THERE AND BACK AGAIN, AGAIN AND AGAIN
The original Baldur’s Gate, developed by BioWare and released in 1998, arrived after a prolonged drought of high-profile PC role-playing games. Long-running series like Might & Magic, Wizardry, and Ultima were losing momentum, and RPG players were hungry for new worlds to explore. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, this behemoth appeared and revitalized the genre with inspired exploration, evocative environments, a rich cast of NPCs, and deeply atmospheric storytelling.
It’s a game that thrives on abundance. There are countless surprises, strategic challenges, party compositions, and regions to chart. You can replay it endlessly and still stumble upon entirely new paths—both literal and narrative. I’ve personally never completed an “evil” playthrough (I may simply be too soft-hearted), and entire branches of quests and outcomes remain unseen by me. Thanks to decades of modding, the game’s lifespan has only continued to grow, with added quests, tougher encounters, and improved companion interactions.
The atmosphere is welcoming and breezy, buoyed by humor and striking visual design. Much of the adventure unfolds in open wilderness, bustling cities, and small settlements rather than cramped dungeons. The RTS-inspired control scheme lends the game a sense of life and flow that felt revolutionary at the time. Baldur’s Gate became an instant classic, helped define the modern CRPG, and quickly earned a place among my all-time favorites.
Baldur’s Gate: Enhanced Edition, released by Beamdog—and somehow only now played by me—is a respectful modernization. It smooths out some rough edges without diluting the experience. While still demanding, it improves balance, adds extensive interface enhancements (including higher resolutions), and runs on the updated engine from Baldur’s Gate II: Shadows of Amn. The result is a cleaner, more accessible version of a timeless game.
As I write this, the shockwaves of Baldur’s Gate III (2023) are still rippling through the gaming world. For newcomers curious about the series’ roots, the Enhanced Edition is the obvious starting point. The only reason I’m not inducting it into my Hall of Fame just yet is that I’m saving that honor for a future replay of the original 1998 release (now commonly bundled as Baldur’s Gate: The Original Saga).
So I’ll try to keep this review shorter than the game deserves. This playthrough serves as the first step toward my eventual journey into Baldur’s Gate III. Along the way, I plan to replay everything—including Siege of Dragonspear and Throne of Bhaal.
The Enhanced Edition adds relatively little new content: three additional companions and a standalone arena-style campaign, The Black Pits. Each new companion comes with a personal quest and romance option, but the one I pursued—Neera, the wild mage—left little impression, and I barely noticed when the romance fizzled out. The Black Pits I skipped entirely; combat arenas have never appealed to me in RPGs.
The core experience remains unchanged. Set in the Forgotten Realms—perhaps the most iconic AD&D setting—you explore the Sword Coast in a long, winding narrative full of intrigue and slow escalation. You rise from a helpless level-one nobody to a seasoned hero around level 8–10, depending on class.
The story centers on destiny and godhood—classic genre fare, but fitting. Viewed from an isometric, almost divine perspective, you issue commands rather than control characters directly, as if acting as a distant deity. There’s a sense that an unseen dungeon master is moving pieces on the board opposite you.
The adventure begins in Candlekeep, a fortress-library where you’ve been raised by the sage Gorion. Sheltered from the world and ignorant of your origins, you’re thrust into danger shortly after leaving its walls. Gorion’s death leaves you alone, armed only with vague leads and rumors—one of which points toward the Friendly Arm Inn.
From there, the world opens up into a patchwork of distinct areas, most of which can be explored freely from early on. Stray too far off the beaten path and you’ll encounter enemies far beyond your current abilities—often lethally so. The game doesn’t warn you; it simply teaches you through experience.
Each region has its own identity: enemies, caves, ruins, and at least one memorable side quest. Uncovering each map from beneath the fog of war is a small joy in itself, especially when done efficiently by spreading your party’s formation. Combat rewards preparation and system knowledge, particularly against stronger foes.
The real-time-with-pause combat system remains one of the game’s defining features. It grows more enjoyable the better you understand it. Characters act automatically based on AI scripts, but I always disable those and micromanage every action—hence liberal use of the pause button.
Boss encounters, typically marking the end of each chapter, introduce sharp difficulty spikes. Expect to die a few times. Success requires mastering your party’s abilities and making smart use of consumables like potions and wands. Hoarding them is pointless—the game is generous enough that you’ll drown in supplies anyway.
The main road through the Sword Coast is plagued by bandits but remains the safest route. Settlements are evenly spaced along it, and this is where the game truly shines. Side quests are often funny, surprising, and refreshingly inconsequential. Many can be resolved in multiple ways, rewarding creativity over brute force.
The soundtrack is timeless, perfectly capturing mood and place—from tavern revelry to the unease of moonlit city streets. Visually, the game is more colorful than its reputation suggests, filled with forests, fields, deserts, and mountain ranges. Some caves lead into sprawling dungeon complexes, layered with crypts, mines, and monster lairs.
Ironically, these underground sections expose one of the game’s weaknesses. Due to engine limitations, dungeon crawling can feel slow and laborious. Constant trap detection and scouting become tedious, especially in areas like the Firewine Bridge Ruins—or worse, a similar section near the endgame.
Companion interaction is another shortcoming. While their portraits are expressive and iconic, most party members remain static personalities with limited dialogue. The Enhanced Edition’s new companions attempt to address this, but Neera in particular feels tonally mismatched—almost transplanted from another genre.
I’m also not fond of the Tales of the Sword Coast content, the original 1999 expansion now folded into the main game. Its standout dungeon, Durlag’s Tower, is long and challenging but ultimately feels disconnected, especially since you’re often already at or near the level cap when tackling it.
These flaws—along with some awkward tutorials early on—keep the game from a perfect score. Knowing how much Baldur’s Gate II improves on nearly every aspect doesn’t help. The Enhanced Edition smooths the surface, but some wrinkles remain. The original 1998 release, warts and all, still feels like the true museum piece.
And here I am again, failing to be brief. Once I start talking about Baldur’s Gate, it’s hard to stop. Its charm endures. The music still conjures images of sunlit meadows and storm-lashed peaks. Magical trinkets still delight me as they quietly boost a stat by one point. And the story continues to surprise with its political scheming and narrative turns.
A gaming world without Baldur’s Gate—and its influence—would be unthinkable. It’s essential for anyone who wants to understand why RPG mechanics have seeped into nearly every genre. As I close the book on what must be my fourth or fifth playthrough, I know there’s still another adventure waiting for me in this world.
I’m not done yet.
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