I pray to the Lady of Pain and the symbol of Torment is my sigil. Bhaal is my father, Sarevok my brother, and Imoen my sister. Murder flows through my veins like Nuka Cola. I am hunted for crimes I have not yet commited.
The Black Isle is my home.
A mission for a water chip in exchange for a Garden Of Eden Creation Kit. I am the chosen one, picked to save my friends and loved ones in a post apocalyptic world.
The Black Isle is my home.
The Master calls upon me, and rubs his thumb across my forehead. Green goo flows down my face. "SIMBA" he says.
The Black Isle is my home.
The Skeleton of a dragon long since dead lines the spine of the world as Icewind Dale is invaded by armies of goblins, orcs, trolls, Giants and Barbarian Hordes.
The Black Isle is my home.
Mad Mages and sword aces. I have met them all on my travels. Bards croon on about my whicked deeds and my heroic adventures.
The black Isle Is my home.
And all of this, From 10 Towns, to Baldur's Gate. To the upper Crust and back to A california with no rule. It is my escape from the world I know. I hit the power button and like a lost key found once more, My computer roars to life like a magical portal found behind a Planescape door. Everything I could ever want to do, to live, to see, to be comes to life on the screen right before me.
The Black Isle Is my home.
Hours I have spent playing these video games. Days, weeks, months, years. I have lost track of the wasted life of a misspent youth. And what do I have to show for it? My beard says Wizard. My body says barbarian. My mind says Monk and my mouth says bard. My outfit says "Wastelander", and my hands show no mercy from years of slaving away pounding keyboard keys like quary stones in a prison work camp.
The Black Isle Is MY HOME.
When I pass, they will call me the Champion Of Norrath. I will take the place beside my father as the Lord of Murder. The Lady Of Pain Will be my bride. And I will Command the Brotherhood of steel with a Plasma Pistol by my side.
THE BLACK ISLE IS MY HOME.
The Black Isle is my home.
A mission for a water chip in exchange for a Garden Of Eden Creation Kit. I am the chosen one, picked to save my friends and loved ones in a post apocalyptic world.
The Black Isle is my home.
The Master calls upon me, and rubs his thumb across my forehead. Green goo flows down my face. "SIMBA" he says.
The Black Isle is my home.
The Skeleton of a dragon long since dead lines the spine of the world as Icewind Dale is invaded by armies of goblins, orcs, trolls, Giants and Barbarian Hordes.
The Black Isle is my home.
Mad Mages and sword aces. I have met them all on my travels. Bards croon on about my whicked deeds and my heroic adventures.
The black Isle Is my home.
And all of this, From 10 Towns, to Baldur's Gate. To the upper Crust and back to A california with no rule. It is my escape from the world I know. I hit the power button and like a lost key found once more, My computer roars to life like a magical portal found behind a Planescape door. Everything I could ever want to do, to live, to see, to be comes to life on the screen right before me.
The Black Isle Is my home.
Hours I have spent playing these video games. Days, weeks, months, years. I have lost track of the wasted life of a misspent youth. And what do I have to show for it? My beard says Wizard. My body says barbarian. My mind says Monk and my mouth says bard. My outfit says "Wastelander", and my hands show no mercy from years of slaving away pounding keyboard keys like quary stones in a prison work camp.
The Black Isle Is MY HOME.
When I pass, they will call me the Champion Of Norrath. I will take the place beside my father as the Lord of Murder. The Lady Of Pain Will be my bride. And I will Command the Brotherhood of steel with a Plasma Pistol by my side.
THE BLACK ISLE IS MY HOME.
I approve