Part 3: The Writers Clearly Have No Idea What They're Doing, Huh?

The Writers Clearly Have No Idea What They're Doing, Huh?

Last time on Black Geyser, we got a whole tutorial sequence for extremely basic shit, we met - and killed - some tiny spiders who were infested by GREED, and then the game told us the gods made us for a purpose then refused to tell us what it is until we ran into a motivational dwarf on the road.



The game really wants us to talk to Helghenhar, so we will do that. But first, Helgenhar has his own entire long ass manual entry, and I know what you all crave in this LP: Long Ass Text Boxes!


Much of this is bullshit (Helgenhar is chatty as FUCK) but at least he's not those worthless assholes Fidel and Hexogen.

Anyway, let's see what he has to say for himself.



: You never told me why you were so interested in visiting the Hall of Records when we met...

: Well, as I believe I mentioned before, it's a family matter. A century or more back, my clan split into two separate bloodlines, each with its own strong traditions and beliefs. As you might guess, the bullheaded nature of my kin has made living alongside one another difficult.

: Now a new and very rich vein of gemstone has been discovered in the depths of Stundur Hum, and the feud between my brothers and sisters has come near a point where bloodshed will be inevitable.

: I heard of a dwarven Keeper working in the Hall of Records, one whose research focuses on the history of the Northern Realm and our kind. Feuds similar to the one dividing my relations have always been common among dwarves. I need to learn from him how such problems were resolved by our ancestors.

Wait. I thought the dwarves in this setting weren't greedy (per the manual) but apparently wars over material were common... fuck it.

: All I know about this fellow is his name, Hallbrag. I need to talk to him as soon as we get to the Hall of Records.


There was speculation in the thread that Helg here was after our money, but no, he just happened to need to go to the Hall of Records for his own reasons and was on the road randomly. I'll give the game this: it's not a bad motivation. The whole setup of randomly finding him on the road is kind of...inept, and it's not gonna get better from here.



We kill these wolves for XP and we can sell their pelts for money.



In case you didn't get that our motivation was to go to the Hall of Records, we get forced into dialog with another Motivation NPC.



: What plague?

: How can you not have heard? Have you been living at the bottom of the sea? Deron-Guld declared war on Isilbright a few days back, and has already gained a foothold in the south of the kingdom. Militarily, it was quite the feat!

I was going to make a snarky comment about how communications technology is a guy on a horse in this pseudo-medieval land, but then I remember there's a whole not-Hogwarts magic academy that teaches every caster class in the game down the road. I have no fucking idea if this is even a reasonable perspective or not.

: But then a terrible illness began to rage across the city almost immediately thereafter. Citizens had been taking to their beds several weeks before, but no one thought it was serious. Now they've begun taking to their graves, and in the dozens!



: You really seem to know your way around. Do you know anything about the raid by Deron-Guld on the Espen Estate? This happened a few days back.

The game completely ignores that Gavin here might be a fucking plague carrier as he just left Deron-Guld, but there's an even more basic mistake. Can YOU spot it?



It's something you might not notice as he's listed as "Gavin", but if you're going deep into the text looking for things to analyze uh. Look, I don't have anything insightful to say about this except to notice we are failing at basic fucking shit.

: Yes, I heard something about that, but I was preparing to leave Deron-Guld at the time, and didn't pay much heed. If you're interested, you should try your luck in Isilbright, just ahead.

: Show me what you have, Gavin.

: With pleasure!



He has a bunch of potions I don't care about, so I sell him the extra armor we looted off the dead guys scattered all over the road. Score!




To the gates of Isilbright!



There are a bunch of direction commoners hanging around the gate.



Hmmm.



The game immediately forgets about the plague because it's a lazy setup for a Baldur's Gate reference and the guards want to know if we are cool legitimate people. I guess no one is asking about plague symptoms because we look healthy? I don't even know if germ theory is a concept in this setting, but I'd imagine quarantine is.

: My name is Inta Rume. I'm heir to the estate of Lord Espen and I've come to claim my birthright.



: That's really why I'm here.



I feel like there's ONE semi-competent writer on the team who realized how shit this was so we get self-sabotaging dialogue like "Rebels are bad", where your character ineptly mouths off.

: I witnessed them kill my father with my own eyes.

But... how? You were literally in the closet with the doors shut!


I assume we're exaggerating here? Fuck it. Nothing in this game makes sense.

: Good enough. Go on in.




We're confronted by the three dumbest men alive.





I mean, I could point out these guys are probably next to those two guards at the gate, or that there's a fucking giant golem down the street, but let's be honest, we know absolutely no thought was put into this at all then "we need to get the player to Lord Markhem...how could we do this...?"

: This looks exactly like a shakedown, and I don't stand for shakedowns.

: Brave. Stupid, but brave.

It's three unarmored idiots versus two mail-clad warriors, one of whom has a shield and the other who has a sword nearly as tall as one of these morons.



Thefuq?




These idiots get one shot by the power of Big Sword.



You might notice from the half-cut off quest marker, but returning this guy's necklace is now the main quest. Sure. Why not. It's great that none of the guards intervened when we literally stained the cobblestones with the blood of an idiot.



I wasn't joking, by the way. This big ass "war golem" is patrolling the street just down from where these idiots waylaid us. Granted, they're fucking stupid idiots screaming about robbing noblemen on the street. It's a wonder they didn't get beat to death by thugs earlier.



I can't emphasize enough that we just decide returning this bracelet is our main quest, even though we're supposed to be trying to access the Hall of Records. Now, a logical game would conclude we're currying favor with Markhem to get his support for our birthright/getting into the Hall, but right now we just kinda awkwardly fixate on this.

There's a reason we're going along with this and it's a dumb one.



Statues!



We need to go south to the sketchy criminal graveyard slum thing.



This starts us in a cutscene, where Helgenhar interjects because I assume the intended audience for this game is people too stupid to figure out that the fade to black starts a cutscene.



This random elf runs into us, followed by 3 guys.



Inta goes down.



: And I hope there's a good reason why you're chasing this fellow down a crowded street. Someone might have broken his neck.

: Yes, the best of reasons, my good lady: property and law, the two pillars of our civilization which this elf has chosen to piss on.



The voice actor for Hamlin delivers his line with the emotion of a teenager reading a math textbook.

: No, sir, I do not imply anything. I say outright that you are a thief. I say you came into my shop, the fruit of my several decades as a goldsmith, and filched my property from a display case I had briefly unlocked for the benefit of Lady Gildesby.

: And I say that a man should stick to beer or watered wine during the day, and leave hard liquor and whiskey until evening. But we plainly disagree about that as well.

Hamlin is my favorite character for all the wrong reasons. It's not that his dialogue is funny because it's well written, it's funny because it's badly acted and idiotic.

: Enough. Give him a hard shake, lads. That piece would pay both your wages for a month. I want that ring.

I think (although who knows with this game) the intent is that the goldsmith is going over the line by roughing up Hamlin, except I don't even know if insurance is a thing in this setting. I'd imagine that making a piece like this is a huge investment in time and materials, as well as the skill of this guy trained for 10 years and opening a shop. Shit, if I was this guy I'd probably beat the shit out of Hamlin too.



: Nothing.

: Check him again! Did you check his boots? Beneath his collar? Check the lining of his sleeves. His kind have a thousand tricks.



: There you have it. No ring, no crime.



Thus our merchant friend needs to now go into vengeful town.

: Unhand this man, you cowards.



: Do you want to face him fairly, without your hired thugs?

: Hmph. Unbelievable. Come on, you two. We've already wasted half the day on this fool.

The goons leave.



: Why is your hand in my pocket? (Shady Dealings)

Hamlin is, from what I've seen of him, a massive piece of shit.



: Indeed. I always assume that whatever I find in my pockets belongs to me. I will be keeping this.

This will not be the last time Hamlin tries to fuck us. However, because he's the only party member who can find traps until we unlock a certain location, we're stuck with him.

He does not have a manual entry, thank Christ.

: Uh, of course. It must be delightful to unexpectedly discover such precious things in one's pocket. I myself hope to be so wealthy one day.



Sure! You just made us an accessory to robbing that jeweler! This will go swimmingly!

: Yes, I like the sound of that.

: Fantastic! Let us carry on then!


So I need to tell you about the reason Hamlin is my favorite character and it's all because of one combat bark where, upon receiving an attack order he goes "A beer. Would be nice. Thank you." It's just so incoherent that it becomes funny.



Hamlin is of course our thief. You spec him into archery because FUCK going for backstabs in these kinds of games.



We might seriously want to reconsider buttering up this man.

Lord Durbat: The facts seem to belie your claims, Lord Markhem. It appears to me that you went all-in on a bluff and now that you've lost the round you're crying out-of-pocket. I've long envied that bracelet of yours; it's the only reason I accepted your wager.



Baflodac. Just say it out loud, it sounds ridiculous.

Lord Markhem: Hmm, this is quite the predicament. It seems we're both going to be staying in the Southern Shore for a good, long time.



: I believe this is your bracelet, yes? You may have it back if it is.

Lord Markhem: Thank you dearly, my friend. You've done me a great favor today. Excuse me for a moment while I resolve this misunderstanding with Lord Durbat.

Lord Markhem: Here you are Durbat, may it bring you much joy.

Lord Durbat: Ah, excellent. It is always a pleasure gaming with you, Lord Markhem, especially when I win. Good day.






Of course it's a whorehouse and I really don't want to see how this game treats it. Not sober anyway.



The game has hinted that we can't get into the Hall of Records without some kind of approval, and we could go to Lord Markhem right now, get a letter of recommendation, and go in. But there's a much stupider way that gets us a new party member, so we're going to do that instead.



A recent update added party banter. Wasn't Helg supposed to be shy? He's chatting up Hamlin after knowing him for all of three minutes.

: My brethren are famous for their meads, sweetened by fruits and berries. At least, those who still make their homes among the trees.

Why does Helgenhar assume Hamlin lives in the fucking woods? The guy is a thief who just talked about how he loves cities. What the fuck is he going to steal in the woods? Isn't this... kind of racist?

: It's been many years since I moved to the city. I came to prefer beer to sweet mead.

: Ha, well said, my friend! Next time we hit an inn, what say I buy you a proper pint of dwarven ale?

Look, I never said Helg was an interesting character.




These guys are bitching about someone named "Bjalla". I'll spare you one of the NPCs trying to get in another NPC's pants and leave you with them being envious that all these lords want to bone Bjalla.





Shit's about to get real dumb folks.



These guys have all gone full Weinstein. Never go full Weinstein.

Lord Trype: Ah, I would never compare Lady Bjalla's lovely visage to anything so harsh as that. I think the reflection of moonlight on a still pond is more apt.



She's voice acted. It's bad.

Lord Fiffin: Let me fan you, milady!

Lord Smedrick: I too carry a fan for such occasions. Mine is fashioned from pheasant!

Lord Fiffin: Pfah! Dirty, wild creatures are pheasants. My fan is fashioned from peacock feathers!

The game almost has something to say about class, but that would require it to form a coherent thought.

Lord Trype: Step aside, paupers! My fan is crafted from the feathers of the legendary phoenix. In summer it cools thee, and in winter, warms!



Weirdly Bjalla here is the only character to my knowledge who gets both a first and last name.





For fuck's sake.





Now, Bjalla does have a manual entry!


So she's supposed to be a canny survivor with magical powers and needs the PC to bail her out from three horny idiots.

Oh well, let's do it in the stupidest way possible.







We can't talk to the idiots so we talk to Bjalla.



: First, I'll mix a small glass of water and wine. Second, deposit it in a man's pocket... (Steal and Plant Item)

This raises a lot of questions. How are you fitting a water glass into a pocket? Isn't this a thief skill that we, uh, don't have?



As far as I can tell this always works.

Lord Smedrick: Haha! Trype you ninnyhammer, you spilled your drink!

Lord Fiffin: He didn't. His drink's right there.











The only thing I've done to these images is resized them and cropped off the edges.





Professor Pee-pee Poopypants and his associates leave the bar in surprisingly good spirits for guys who struck out with a snow elf waifu by seeming to piss themselves.



Bjalla is totally impressed by our immature and idiotic antics.

: I am Inta Rume. Glad to be of service.



: I can't say that I do.



: The usual. Disowned noblewoman, born out of wedlock, trying to reclaim her birthright after watching her father cut down. You know the story.

I thought the crone said we were the trueborn... fuck it.



For a canny survivor Bjalla sure accepts this story at face value. Now, we the player know it's true because it got exposition dumped on us, but no one in the game seems to seriously consider the woman trying to claim a noble estate with no proof whatsoever might be some kind of con artist.

: Splendid! I do need the help.

Bjalla here is a mage who can cast nearly every spell in the game, including healing spells. She will never be leaving the party.

: Good. I suggest we try the palace first, or the Hall of Records.


Alright. Bjalla is a noble so we can rush the Hall of Records and proceed on with... what the hell are we actually trying to do again?



Bjalla is an infamous archmage at level 3. So, funny thing about the game's level system - party members gain levels to match you before you recruit them, but as is common in these shitty RPGs, there's no catchup mechanism. This is why a lot of guides tell you to solo as much as you can.



I'll summarize: Hamlin wants to use magic to steal shit. Bjalla does not know any magic to do that. How exciting.



The guards won't let us in without a noble. Helg doesn't count because this dialog was added after the game was released.

: Why would I? My kin are respectful and conduct themselves with honor.

: But all the gossip and noise is just... unbearable!

: Fortunately that's not the way of things below the mountains. Every dwarf has both feet planted firmly on the ground, stone preferably.

Because these characters are little more than stock archetypes, the party banter is dull and uninteresting. I'm not even going to summarize this. What am I going to work with here?



: Thank you sir, but this, uh, commoner is actually a friend of mine.

: Oh. Really?

: Really.



: No, not at all. But we do have urgent business in the Hall of Records. May I?

: Of course, milady. You and your... friend are free to come and go as you please.






The game doesn't give the Record Keeper a name, so things get real awkward.

: And you, Record Keeper. I know you are a busy man, so I'll get right to it: my friend Inta Rume needs information about a certain nobleman. I know if anyone can help us, it's you.



: What is the fate of Lord Espen?



: What happened to the Espen estate?



: Who claimed the estate after Lord Espen's demise?



: I'm a direct descendant of Lord Espen, his daughter in fact.



But wait. Remember how even we doubted it when the Crone told us Espen was secretly our father, because we were Rillow? Remember her reply of how the gods made Inta a rillow so that no one would realize we were actually Espen's daughter? Remember how Espen talked about "the Lady Espen" before he died, and she was presumably NOT a rillow?

Why does this man blindly believe our story? Why does smarty-pants Bjalla? Bjalla is low-key staking her reputation on this.

: Thank you. Can you help me claim my title?

The answer is because the writers didn't think this through or coordinate, so we have the equivalent of Robert Anton Wilson's characters realizing they're in a book and that previously inexplicable events are because the authors put them there.



: No.



What. How does he know we're not scamming Bjalla? The asshole guard at the door was at least smart enough to question it.



Ok, he's at least able to verify it.

: Oh my my my oh my.

: Record Keeper, are you ill?

Why does she never use his name? It's not like it's verboten - we know Hallbrag's name, and he has the same position.



: What did you find?

: What did I find? It's what I did not find that is so vexing - there is no record of Inta Rume's birth at all.

: Oh no.



Holy shit! Right now the Record Keeper has broken the law of confidentiality (he can only discuss this with a blood relative, remember), then he had the good sense to check the records and found... nothing, because we didn't even know about it until an old tutorial lady told us in an infodump.

: Imagine how I feel! This raises the question of whether I even exist, since there's no record of the event.

They're clearly trying to go for the scene in Attack of the Clones where they tampered with the Jedi Archives, but they don't actually confirm signs of tampering! Inta has absolutely no evidence to back up her claims and the gate guards even called her on it. Bjalla is being dragged into this not because she has proof but because she thought it'd be fun and owed us for getting rid of Piss Weinstein.



Now, a charitable reading would be that he's politely dismissing us because he doesn't want to offend Lady Bjalla, but this dude keeps all the genealogical records that are - per his description - the foundation of the king's power. I don't know why he thinks this proof even exists.



Welp! At least Hamlin got a level.


We also got 75 world greed for progressing the plot. Apparently at max greed people start murdering each other in the streets, which honestly sounds more interesting than this stack of cliches.

Honestly, It wouldn't have been that hard to fix this scene. Either go out and have the Record Keeper discover obvious falsification like a burnt birth record, or have the player character be given some kind of Espen family keepsake by Lord Espen that they always had but no one told them was like, I dunno, Lady Espen's locket or something. Maybe the Record Keeper knew the player character's mom. Give it something, anything, so we don't have this clumsy plot that only works because the writers made it work.

Oh well, let's go do Helg's thing.



First, however, we're going to steal some scrolls for Bjalla to learn. We'll talk about the stupid magic system - including the "Oriental" spell school - next update.



We get caught as this dude runs at us, but literally nothing happens and he runs back to his starting position.



Keeper Hallbrag is the guy Helg wanted to see about averting the dwarf civil war.

: Greetings Hallbrag, I am Helgenhar of the Stoneseeker clan of Stundur Hum. My people have been troubled recently by a boiling feud, and I've journeyed to the city looking for a way to stop this quarrel before it turns to bloodshed.

: As a scholar of dwarven lore, you are of course aware of how stubborn, and sometimes even greedy, our kin can be. Do you know aught of how blood feuds were settled in older times?

Keeper Hallbrag: My friend, you have come to the right dwarf! I've devoted my sweat and blood to studying the records of the dwarves of the Northern Realm and adding that precious history to this Hall of Records. I'm already thinking of a couple old tomes I could cite on this topic.

But wait! If they have all the dwarf records wouldn't they recognize Helg - fuck it.

: Is that so? What histories are you speaking of, exactly?

Keeper Hallbrag: The Ironchin clan were a rowdy and capricious lot, and the Kegrunners almost as bad. I'm happy to recite a bit of their history for ya, if you care to hear it. I've noticed that these kin feuds have become ever more frequent of late. It seems these new generations are more susceptible to greed than any who've come before.



: Let's hear about the Ironchin clan!

Keeper Hallbrag: The Ironchin clan were renowned in their time for an unlimited stubbornness, and inflexibility on even the smallest of matters. It came to pass that the clan leader was lost while following a vein of emerald in the depths of a mountain, and his twin sons each vowed to take their father's place.

Keeper Hallbrag: The two malcontents stirred up strife among their allies and cousins, and almost brewed up a war, but the clan elder was wise. He counseled single combat to decided the issue, and the lads agreed. Neither son survived the fight, but the rest of the family was spared. A younger brother, one more talented and cunning, succeeded to the clan seat, and the Ironchin have prospered ever since.



: Tell us about the Kegrunners.

Keeper Hallbrag: The Kegrunner clan were known everywhere among dwarves for the incredible - nigh bottomless - capacity of their bellies for ale, as well as their excellent breweries. But these noble dwarves fell into turmoil when Ortan Kegrunner, clan leader, decided to marry his son to the daughter of a rival bloodline, the Golden Hammer.

Keeper Hallbrag: Ortan's people were ready to revolt against their lord, so deeply did they detest the Golden Hammer. Axes were already being honed and chain mail mended, but Ortan Kegrunner convinced them he had a secret - that peace with their enemies would mean shared security, less work patrolling and more time for smithing and brewing and, importantly, drinking.



But the manual said dwarves weren't gre - fuck it. Dwarves are literally descended from demons in this setting. I don't even know.

: Who's this person we could talk to about more recent events?

Keeper Hallbrag: A friend of mine, Fjora, works at the Embassy of the Northern Realm - actually, she is their Chief Consul. She's deeply invested in current events in the Northern Real, and very knowledgeable about the dwarven clans up that way.

Keeper Hallbrag: Fjora herself played an important role in brokering peace between Freynagar and Riznagar. You should go have a talk with her. Wise woman.




Next time: Dicking around the city.