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Originally posted by VonDondu
Hey, Aqua-chan, don't forget the "tale from Candlekeep" about Winthrop and the dust demons that Imoen made up and told to Jan. Or the time that Imoen pestered Valygar, causing him to remark, "For someone who supposedly has her soul tainted by the evil of a dead god, you remind me considerably of a chipmunk with a sugar high and a death wish."

I think the dialogue between Imoen and Korgan that you mentioned and the dialogue between Aerie and Korgan that brian0182001 mentioned are intended to shed some light on Korgan's character. The reason why he pesters and insults people is because he enjoys getting a rise out of them. At one point, Korgan says to Anomen, "Ach - that's what I'm here fer! To open old wounds and pour in a big bag o' salt!" When Anomen tells him off, Korgan says, "'Twas merely a jest, my surly cleric. that's what I been waitin' fer. You'll be blushin' fer a week when Since ye cannae take a joke, I'll leave ye be." When people fight back, he admires them. When Imoen rises to the challenge, he says, "Yer a fine, fine lass, ye are, Imoen. That Gorion of yers would be proud!" When Aerie finally tells him off, he says, "Aye, ye calm down and realize what ye've said, lassie! My work here is done - Har, har har!" You might have thought he hated Aerie from the fights he started with her in Shadows of Amn, but as it turns out, that wasn't true at all. If the main character is female, he even hits on her in jest!

But you know, even with all the humor, there are still a lot of chilling moments in the game. For example, if you let Imoen give up part of her soul to restore Sarevok (instead of letting your main character do it), there's a dialogue between them later on. It begins with Imoen teasing Sarevok: "So...Sarevok. You've had an itty-bitty piece of my soul in there for quite a while, now. What's it been like?" His reply is very funny: "(sigh) Well, other than a slight obsession with my weight and the outbreak of a few pimples, it's been simply grand." But after that, the conversation turns very grim, and we're reminded that the characters have been through a lot of terrible experiences.

I've never had Jan and Imoen in my party at the same time, so I don't know thier compatability.

Edwin, I just find dull...

That Valygar comment to Imoen: I love that one! That was probably the best dialog he's had (out of very few)!

But, Korgan is more nuetral than evil, I believe. Sure, he's all blood and gore, but he's actually more gentle (!?!) then people make him out to be. Like you said about him and Anomen -- that's exactly right. He tests a person's will power and mental strength to make sure tha they're doing OK with the current situation. Maybe it's also because he's making sure that they remember...well, their histories and remember what they've lost.

...Or, maybe I'm just ranting myself into neverworld.

Either way, it is something to think about...

Got to vote for immy
to minsc: I want a hampster

as then minsc tries to explain boo isn't for sale

Lilarcor

I just simply love lilarcor!!!

VonDondu and Aqua-Chan, I think your commentary about The Dwarf and the other NPCs is just right on.

My vote is certainly for Jan. And even though he is CN he has a solid core of values. He is also real laugh with Sarevok, he gets him really worked up Viccy, Jan, and Sarevok overall have some fun dialogue. I agree that Sarevok has some chilling moments, like his comments when walking around a city (like, "these are pawns for those who know how to use them"). Jeez, like an evil Aristotlean. (Do you think he'd enjoy a novel by Ayn Rand?) Sarevok has to be the clearest case of an evil alignment. Though I still feel for him in his post-adventuring days, as he mourns his lost love...

Overall, my heart is for Viccy. She has nerves of steel, is always at the ready for anything (eg. "the merciless slaughter of our foes awaits!"), and like Korgan, has much more to her than the alignment suggests. Oh, and those drow do know some naughty things...

Do any of you perform dubious acts to keep your evil NPCs happy and promote group cohesion? Some of my PCs have from time to time, but it is bothersome for a good-aligned person... I mean one could grin and bear it for the purposes of the greater good (like keeping happy companions to efficiently attain the big goals), but I don't like stretching the alignment too far... I know there is a mod to keep them happy at any reputation, but it kinda defeats part of the alignment purpose, though it could be in an evil person's interest to keep a high reputation. Where is that file again?

Originally posted by Hesperus
Do any of you perform dubious acts to keep your evil NPCs happy and promote group cohesion?

Oh, yeah, all the time.

Jaheira: "It is good that we killed Neb and took his head to the authorities. Now we should get caught trying to steal something from a store to maintain balance."

I shoulda remembered that dialog, my last run through SoA and ToB had Jaheria (*sigh*). What a laugh! She rocks

Unless anyone objects, I present to you the following dialogues from Throne of Bhaal. I copied them from the dialogue files by using Infinity Explorer. If anyone is interested, I have also compiled a complete set of Town Crier dialogues, which I also find very entertaining.


SAREVOK

Minsc: Eh, so, 'Sarevok', if that is your real name, what do you remember of our previous battles?
Sarevok: What are you getting at, ranger? I remember you well enough.
Minsc: I am not completely convinced that you are who you say you are, standing there saying you are.
Sarevok: And I am to feel bad that I do not have your validation? No, if my identity is a problem for you then let my actions speak instead.
Minsc: Boo agrees. You are welcome beside us if you effectively apply the boots of goodness.
Sarevok: Your deluded comments are unnecessary. [MAIN CHARACTER] directs my wrath as he sees fit.
Minsc: A fine choice of mentor, but again, you do not seem like a 'Sarevok' to me. Too much 'humble', not enough 'RAAAAGH, feel my unholy rage.'"


Sarevok: Ranger! Turn your rodent's gaze another direction! I will not be scrutinized as though by some ridiculous divining rod!
Minsc: Boo is an uncanny judge of character, but you... you give him trouble.
Sarevok: I shall give him more than that if this continues! I nearly conquered a nation! I will not be judged by a creature that stores nuts in its cheeks!
Jan: Hey! I resemble that remark.
Sarevok: Trust me, gnome, you do not want to partake in my wrath this day.
Minsc: Food storage aside, Boo controls himself far better than you do. Do you see him ranting about mere glances? Let's look.
Sarevok: What?
Minsc: There, you see? No ranting. In fact, right now we see him snuffing about for a comfy place to sleep. Admirable restraint.
Sarevok: I'm still in hell, aren't I? This is insanity.
Minsc: Ah, finally a calming look across your face. Boo's handywork, no doubt. Doesn't that feel better?
Sarevok: Let's... let's go kill something. Soon.



IMOEN

Aerie: I have a question for you, Imoen... you have the taint of Bhaal within you? Does this mean that you will turn into the Slayer as well?
Imoen: I certainly hope not. I... I've been thinking more and more lately about that, myself, though.
Aerie: It must be an awful feeling. I can't imagine how [MAIN CHARACTER] deals with it.
Imoen: Yeah... He's been living with it longer, too. Sometimes, when it's quiet... I can hear the taint in my heart whispering to me. It says awful things and I almost want to scream to shut them out.
Aerie: (gasp!) You... you haven't done anything that it's said, have you?
Imoen: Well... other than that time I got up in the middle of the night to snatch a bag full of cinnamon cookies, heck no.
Aerie: Oh, goo-... what? Cinnamon cookies?
Imoen: Ha ha! Oh, come on, Aerie! Lighten up, will ya? I'll tell ya what... if I have any desires to murder you in the middle of the night, you'll be the first to know, okay?
Aerie: That's not very funny, Imoen. [MAIN CHARACTER] never makes fun of his condition in that way.
[MAIN CHARACTER]: Well, it's been so much easier since I discovered all the Slayer really wants is a sandwich...
Aerie: Oh, fine. Everyone seems determined to make fun of me. I'll stand back here, thank you.


Keldorn: Imoen! What... are you pawing at me yet again? Do you think I do not notice? You are attempting to pickpocket me, aren't you?!
Imoen: Well, no... I just...
Keldorn: Just what? Out with it, girl. I won't have a party member stealing from me.
Imoen: No, no, that's not it! I... I was just... I was just trying to find out if you're as muscular under your armor as you look.
Keldorn: Eh? What's this?
Imoen: Oh, I know that you're married and all that, Keldorn... but do you have *any* idea how good you look? I... I can't help myself, I just want to touch you all the time!
Keldorn: Imoen! I... I have a daughter that is the same age as you!
Imoen: I don't know what it is, Keldorn... maybe it's the Bhaal essence in me. I just want to run my fingers through your hair and nibble on your ears! Oh, Keldorn, you drive me so wild!
Keldorn: By Torm, no! This is terrible! I... I had no idea I had this effect on you...
Imoen: Oh, get over yourself already, Keldorn! Sheesh. (giggle!) Here's your ring back. I won't take it again, I promise.


Haer'Dalis: Ahh, Imoen, my wildflower. Have I ever told you that you've a most natural grace and innocent beauty about you? T'is something any man would find most charming.
Imoen: Yeah, okay, whatever. I don't know about my grace, but I'm not all that innocent, Haer'Dalis. I can smell a cheesy come-on from a mile away.
Haer'Dalis: T'was not meant as such. I've no intention of offending you.
Imoen: Uh-huh.
Haer'Dalis: T'is only that I see you in an unguarded moment, at times... and I see the ache in your heart reflected in your eyes. It saddens this sparrow to know there is no-one to hold you close, Imoen.
Imoen: I...
Haer'Dalis: But no doubt I over-step my bounds by saying so. It has only ever been my hope that you might one day give me the chance to be the one that comforts you. It would be an honor, my wildflower.
Imoen: Whew. Gosh, you're good.
Haer'Dalis: Yes, I know. T'is an art form that has served this sparrow well, at times.
Imoen: Write a book. I'll buy it.


Imoen: You know, Jan... I was listening to a story you were telling a little earlier. I thought it was quite fascinating.
Jan: Indeed? Well, I must say I've never looked at goat cheese quite the same way again. And neither did poor Gilbert. Or any of his cats.
Imoen: And neither will [MAIN CHARACTER], the way he was groaning. Your story did remind me of a tale I heard back in Candlekeep, though.
Jan: Oh? A new story? My, my... you've got the tiniest toes on my gnomish feet wiggling like Aunt Petunia trying to get into her sunday dress. Let's hear it.
Imoen: Well, it just reminded me of the bowl of goat's milk that old Winthrop used to put outside his door every evening for the dust demons. He said the dust demons could never resist goat's milk, and that they would always drink themselves into a stupor and then be too tired to enter his room... that way he would never have to spend any of his time dusting because his room was always clean.
Jan: Ingenious! Go on.
Imoen: It turned out that dust demons gossip a lot, and their tale of Winthrop's nightly goat milk had spread. So along comes this three-armed Balor (there's a longer story about why the Balor had only three arms, and besides the fact that he was nicknamed 'Smart Mouth' by the greater powers in the Abyss I won't go into it any more than that) who flies into Candlekeep in the middle of the night and storms his way over to Winthrop's cell and drinks the milk. The Balor, however, had mis-heard the gossip and thought that he was drinking the milk of a pregnant glabrezu. Don't ask me why.
Jan: Well, he must have been very disappointed. I know I would have been.
Imoen: Indeed he was. He put up such a fuss and racket, pounding on the door to Winthrop's cell, that he woke up just about everyone in the keep. Including Gorion, who usually slept pretty soundly and didn't wake up very well, anyway. Well, Gorion was all groggy and thought the keep was under attack and just about blew the roof off with a series of fireballs and lightning bolts. [MAIN CHARACTER] was so scared, he cried like a baby.
Jan: Hmph. I don't blame him. Uncle Scratchy once did something similar with a bad mixture of turnip stew and vinegar, but the smell was probably worse.
Imoen: Gorion was terribly angry. He was grumbling and [MAIN CHARACTER] was bawling, people were running around everywhere... it was quite a scene. They banned goat's milk from the keep, which meant that Winthrop had to dust his own room after that point and taught him a lesson about trying to get out of work, as well.
Jan: Hmmmn. What happened to the Balor?
Imoen: Oh. The monks bought him off with a tome of jokes about baatezu. I hear he's been touring the Abyss ever since. Gets heckled a lot, but what do you expect for a comedian in Hell?
Jan: Hmmmn. Hm. Alright. Yes, very good job there, lass. At least one turnip reference might be called for in the future, but all-around well done.
Imoen: (giggle!) I'll keep that in mind.

MINSC


Imoen: Minsc, I want a hamster.
Minsc: What? Well, an admirable decision but Boo is not for sale.
Imoen: Not Boo, you goof. My own hamster. I just see how calming he is for you, and as a pet he seems very easy to maintain. I just thought...
Minsc: OH! Well then, by all means! And yes, very little requirements. Food, shelter, and perhaps the little wheel. I have heard nothing but good things about the little wheel.
Imoen: Well, I don't want one right away. I doubt I could manage one on the road as well as you, but once this is done, maybe then.
Minsc: Of course. Boo is special among his kind, and quite resilient. Have I mentioned he is a miniature giant space hamster? I'm sure I have.
Imoen: Yes you have, Minsc. Yes you have.


Nalia: Minsc, I wanted to take a moment to say something to you.
Minsc: Boo and I always have time to speak with our friends, right Boo?
Nalia: Eh, yes. Well, I just wanted to say that your unwavering fight for goodness has been a great influence on me.
Minsc: And now you would like a hamster.
Nalia: What?
Minsc: Just a guess.
Nalia: Well, no, I just wanted you to know that I'm thankful for your example... perhaps excluding the hamster part of it.
Minsc: As you wish, but I couldn't imagine a Minsc without a Boo. We are two peas in a pool, two fists in a face, two feet on the floor, and too much for most villainy.


Minsc: Aerie! Boo has been mulling over a question for you. Never have I seen a hamster concentrate so! He has been so very quiet I thought perhaps I rolled over him last night, which caused me great concern.
Aerie: If 'Boo' wishes to ask me a question, Minsc, then he should feel free to do so.
Minsc: But Boo's question is of such a personal nature...well, the thought of it makes me blush right down to my buttocks.
Aerie: I...see. Perhaps Boo should ask me anyway to get it off his chest. We...wouldn't want a hamster to bottle up all that anxiety, now, would we?
Minsc: You are very insightful! Such bottling could lead to all sorts of un-hamster-like explosions! Well...Boo wonders why you do not perform all your duties, since you are our witch?
Aerie: My duties? I thought you were supposed to protect me...I didn't know there were any duties involved. And what's so personal about this?
Minsc: Well...a Rashemani witch accompanies a ranger on his dajemma and teaches him the lore of herbs, among other things. Well... Minsc and Boo have discovered a need of some of this lore, maybe... After frolicking in a bush that we now consider to be of suspicious nature, both Boo and I have contracted the Calim****e Itch in rather... private places. A salve would be most joyously anticipated!
Aerie: I...I...ah, I'll do what I can, Minsc.
Minsc: Many thanks, Aerie! Soon, maybe, Boo can return his little mind to thoughts of butt-kicking instead of butt-itching, and I for one shall be very relieved!



KORGAN

Korgan: Hmph. Imoen, yer an o'er-lame excuse fer a member o' this party and I be tired of exertin' meself to protect ye! Next time I let ye perish, screaming like a ninny as ye does!
Imoen: The last time I saw you exert yourself over anything was the last slab of pork in an inn. If you could keep up with me with that beer gut of yours I'd be amazed.
Korgan: Beer gut?! Why, ye stinkin' wench, how dare ye! Keep up with my keen axe as it flies towards yer head, more like! Though it'd be like splittin' a hair, skinny as ye are!
Imoen: I'd be startled if a drunk dwarven oaf like yourself could hit the broad side of a barn with your axe. And while we're talking about stench, let's talk about the last time you passed out in your own vomit.
Korgan: An outrage! Yer a canker on me backside and the world would be best rid of ye! Loathsome mongrel she-dog!!
Imoen: Brutish pig! You're nothing but a boil needing lancing!
Korgan: I've seen harlots wi' less open sores than ye, ye pimple-faced, whining gutter-snipe!
Imoen: You cantankerous, foul-mouthed excuse for a gully dwarf!
Korgan: Gully dwarf? Har har! Ye knows how to hit low, ye does! Har har! Yer a fine, fine lass, ye are, Imoen. That Gorion of yers would be proud!
Imoen: Aw, gee. Thanks, Korgan!


Korgan: Aerie, ye wingless freak! Ye better spend some time practicin' yer spells afore the next battle! I won't put up with any more of yer screw-ups!
Aerie: Leave me alone, you brute. I'm in no mood for this today.
Korgan: Aye, yer never in the mood for nothin' but weepy sentimentality! Stop playin' adventurer and go back to yer cage in the circus! At least if people pay a copper or two to see yer gangly, misshapen form ye might be worth somethin'!
Aerie: I can look after myself, you vile little man! [MAIN CHARACTER] knows I can hold my own when the rough stuff starts!
Korgan: Yer nothin' but a scrawny, whiny, stump-backed, miscastin' mage wanna be!
Aerie: I'm sick of your insults, you bastard! You're worth less than the feces of an unwashed kobold! You're stupid, bigoted, mean, small minded and small membered! Now leave me alone or I'll cast a spell of withering on that pathetic excuse for a manhood you're always scratching at between your legs!
Korgan: Aye, that's what I been waitin' fer. You'll be blushin' fer a week when ye calm down and realize what ye've said, lassie! My work here is done. Har, har har!

JAN

Jan: Oh my, my, my... I had the strangest dream last night, Minscy. I dreamt a wizard snuck into our camp while we slept, and cast a spell that made you and I switch identities.
Minsc: Such a thing would be a nightmare indeed - Minsc could not even fit into your tiny clothes! I have no wish to walk naked through these strange lands...
Jan: Just our minds were switched, Minscy. You were me and I was you. Oh my... what if it wasn't a dream? What if it was real? What if you're really me, and I'm really you? Suddenly I feel sort of funny... HAMSTERS AND RANGERS AND HEROES TOGETHER!
Minsc: What is this? The puny gnome speaks with the wrath and rage of a Rasheman warrior! Boo, I am confused...
Jan: I AM FED UP WITH YOUR WILY TRICKS YOU uh... uh... PIPSQUEAK! GIVE ME BACK MY HAMSTER, OR uh... uh... OR FEEL THE WRATH OF MY uh...uh... THE WRATH OF MY MIGHTY uh... BOOT! (Yes, that will do.)
Minsc: Can this be true? Am I but the sneaky little Jan inside Minsc's great, big body? ...No! This is not right! Minsc is not Jan... Minsc is Minsc! Minsc is Minsc, Boo is Boo and you are a naughty, naughty gnome!
Jan: Okay Minscy, settle down. You win. Just a little existential prank is all - no hard feelings I hope. (Hmmm... I really thought that would work...)
Minsc: Your trick may have worked, tiny one, had Boo not saved me from my confusion. Boo thinks, therefore I am. Remember that before you tempt my wrath by trying to steal my hamster again!


Jan: So, Keldorn, while we're on the subject of adult diapers, you're getting on in years, aren't you?
Keldorn: What in the blazes are you about, Jan? We were on no such topic!
Jan: Well, it's just that as Uncle Stinky was nearing your age, he was prone to a terrible diaper rash. I thought you, too, might be suffering in noble knightish silence. No man should face diaper rash alone.
Keldorn: 'Uncle Stinky?' (sigh) He was called this because of the diapers, I suppose?
Jan: No, twas the fish heads that earned him that moniker. Real name is Rooctal or Slooble or something. I can't recall. Why, as Pappy used to say, 'If you can't join 'em, take your boot and --
Keldorn: (Gods!) [MAIN CHARACTER], do I strike you as a stupid man?
[MAIN CHARACTER]: Why do you ask?
Keldorn: I continue to be conversationally pummeled by the gnome.
[MAIN CHARACTER]: He's still talking, isn't he?
Keldorn: Yes.
Jan: ...which is really the reason I had the donkey to begin with. Good luck with the rash!


Jan: Haery, could I draw upon your bardic prowess to help me with a little poem I'm working on? It's a tribute to our fearless leader.
Haer'Dalis: I truly wish you would call me by my proper name, Jan. But I shall be happy to collaborate with you on such an epic subject.
Jan: Great, Haery. I knew I could count on you. I'm off to a pretty good start, but I need rhymes for 'purple, 'orange' and 'silver''.
Haer'Dalis: Ah, well... perhaps you are focusing too much on colors, Jan. Mayhaps we could take this ballad in a different direction.
Jan: Okay, I'll work on that stanza myself. Maybe you can help me with the next verse. What's a good rhyme for 'bucket'?
Haer'Dalis: One does spring readily to mind... Listen, my would-be sparrow, I do not mean to give offense but perhaps you could let me work with the composition and add my own brand of subtle wit to the mix.
Jan: Ah, Haery, let's just forget about it. I was born a storyteller, and a storyteller I'll remain until the day I die. I'm no poet, and I never will be.
Haer'Dalis: Normally I would encourage an artist such as yourself to branch out, but in this case abandoning the genre may be for the best.


Jan: You know, Binky, I've been considering this plan of yours that you had with the Iron Throne and all that. Interesting ideas... but flawed.
Sarevok: 'Binky'? You had best not be addressing me, gnome.
Jan: For instance, whose idea was it to put impurities into the iron? Sounds like the lame idea of some yes-man underling who didn't know when to quit. No doubt you had him flogged.
Sarevok: I will not have my past commented upon by the likes of you, churl. Quiet yourself, lest you experience worse than mere flogging.
Jan: Speaking of a good flog, I'm brought to mind of poor Auntie Sara. She, too, had a master plan to take over the Sword Coast, you know. Although hers was considerably less dramatic and involved the use of some tasty recipes for turnip pie and some mind-altering herbs that Auntie Sara had bought from a rather disreputable Turmish mage.
Sarevok: Are you listening to *nothing* I say?! Desist or suffer the consequences!
Jan: Do you think she would listen to us? You can trust a Turmish mage about as far as you can kick him... and even then it's not a bad idea to carry a good thumping stick. But, alas, Auntie Sara just cackled in her most villain-like way and was determined to carry on with her plan to hypnotize the Sword Coast. Alas, she was completely undone by an over-the-top exposition she gave to a spy that she had captured...and who subsequently escaped, of course, before she could have him killed. It's what villains do, I understand, when they're not busy defiling iron.
Sarevok: I will not be mocked, gnome! This is your last warning!
Jan: Of course, they say that Duke Eltan had already had a bit of Auntie's pie and enjoyed it immensely. Rather than become hypnotized, he just became rather pleasantly obsessed with silken undergarments. This, of course, led to the first Great Underwear Shortage. It's also known as the Three-Year Wedgie Drought, but that's another story completely.
Sarevok: AUUUUGHHH!! How maddening! How you can put up with such impudence, [MAIN CHARACTER]!!


Jan: Mazzy, dear... have I ever told you about my Aunt Petunia the ranger?
Mazzy: Yes, Jan. I have already heard that tale, thank you.
Jan: Really? Are you quite sure? This is the one where she...
Mazzy: Yes, that's the one. One of your best, but I have heard it before.
Jan: Well then, let me regale you with tales of my years as a...
Mazzy: I have heard that one as well, Jan.
Jan: But I didn't even say anything! Ah, here's one I KNOW you haven't heard. Back when I was...
Mazzy: I am sorry to disappoint you, Jan, but I already know that one, too.
Jan: A-HA! I made that last one up just to test you, Mazzy! There is no such story.
Mazzy: You mean to say you have been telling us falsehoods this whole time, Jan? I am so very, very disappointed in you. Since you admit to your dishonesty, I can no longer in good conscience listen to your stories ever again.
Jan: Huh... that really didn't go the way I expected.

JAN (continued)

Minsc: Boo? Boo... where are you?
Jan: What's the matter, Minscy? Did you lose (snicker)... lose (giggle)... lose something?
Minsc: You! The tiny, tricky gnome! Minsc knows it was you who stole Boo! You cannot fool Minsc! What is that bulge moving about within your trousers?
Jan: This bulge here? Why that's (ha-ha) that's nothing. I'm just happy to see you, Minscy. (giggle) Oh, those tiny feet tickle so.
Minsc: I hear Boo's frenzied squeaking! Ho-ho! He is growing angry, little man. Release Boo from your drawers lest his sharp teeth nibble on your naughty bits in his outrage!
Jan: Boo would never do such a thing... uh, at least I hope he wouldn't. Actually, now that I think about it, that's a chance I'm not willing to take. Here you go, Minscy - Boo's yours again, safe and sound.
Minsc: Ah, Minsc and Boo together again! Jan, you are not worthy of having a miniaturized giant space hamster scampering loose in your pants.
Jan: Ah, I suppose there are precious few of us indeed who are truly worthy of that particular honor.


Viconia: Jan. While I would be tempted to let the situation play itself out, perhaps it is best if I warn you now.
Jan: Yeeessss, my dusky little margarita? What warning would that be?
Viconia: You have a venomous spider on your neck. A lovely creature, known to cause an agonizing, blood-curdling death within moments of injecting its nerve poison.
Jan: You know, this reminds me of the time Uncle Scratchy laid me flat with the handle of a horseman's flail. 'Look behind you!', he says. 'Why? What's behind me?', I say. 'A Tiberian Dung Beetle!', he cries, looking frantic. So of course I scream in terror and look behind me... and lost a bag of the most scrumptuous turnips ever to come out of Scornubel. Ma Jansen was furious and the lump was more painful than six weeks with the Calim****e Itch.
Viconia: Oh, look. There it goes down the back of your shirt.
Jan: And then there was that time I took a drow at his word. "Bifflechips,' says I, 'you had better be telling the truth.' And, of course, he swore up and down that he was. Needless to say, not four weeks later I was stewing in the lower intestines of a giant cave wyrm without even so much as a torch or a sense of irony. I would have been a goner if gnomes weren't well known for causing severe bouts of intestinal gas.
Viconia: I wouldn't squirm about so much, you foolish jaluk. You're likely to anger it, and I have no spells that can counteract its particular poison.
Jan: Now, if I had a copper for every time --- eh, wait a second. I feel something... who's behind me? What *is* that back there?
Viconia: Did I not try to tell you? No doubt it is sinking its fangs into your gamey flesh as we speak.
Jan: What? But I -- ouch! AHHHH! AHHHH, NOOOO! I'M TOO YOUNG A GNOME TO DIE!! AHHHHH!! HELP ME, SOMEONE! AN ANTIDOTE, AN ANTIDOTE!! PAIN GIVES ME GAS! AHHHH!! I DON"T WANT TO -- eh? Wait a minute, that's a fly. A dead fly. You mean I ripped off my own shirt for nothing?
Viconia: Ha ha! Sometimes life has its little rewards. Even for the drow.
Jan: You're a cruel, cruel woman, Viconia. Garl help me, but I am so turned on right now.
Viconia: Alright, now I'm leaving.

Ha! What a collection, you've made my afternoon. Thanks for putting it up! Jan for president.

@ Von Dondu -

You had my eyes watering on more than one dialoq in there! Hillarious - absolutely hilarious! You gotta get any other up you can find...

have edwina talk to that elf male prostitute in copper coronet....

its so funny you may throw up....

I LOATHE JAN JANSEN!!!

sorry, he just grates so badly...and the turnip jokes...aaagggg!!!!!!!!!

Not all of the dialogues are hilarious. Some of them are grim, but on a positive note, they are very insightful and shed light on the characters. By popular demand, here are a few more.


HAER'DALIS

Sarevok: Your sideways glances begin to annoy me, bard. Say your piece or drag your eyes elsewhere!
Haer'Dalis: Forgive this sparrow's curiousity, my fierce hound, but my eyes are drawn of their own accord. You have walked where every mortal must eventually go - though precious few return as you have.
Sarevok: And what of it? Do you think I learned some great secret there? The meaning of life, perhaps? Or some similar foolish notion?
Haer'Dalis: Nay, I am far too busy living life to wonder at its meaning. But perchance you could share your experiences with me... it could make a most fascinating dramatic work.
Sarevok: My experiences? Suffering, tiefling... suffering you cannot fathom. Each level of pain worse than the first, each layer of torment bringing new tortures.
Haer'Dalis: Such passion in your suffering! Imagine a story in which you take me, the author, on a journey through these levels of the Abyss... it is the stuff of a literary masterpiece! Tell me more, Sarevok!
Sarevok: Beneath the suffering is a constant fire. An incessant, horrible burning - the rage and fury of Bhaal searing my immortal soul. No! I will not relive the agony of that inferno for your amusement!
Haer'Dalis: Ah, your decision is a great loss to literature. Should you change your mind, my armor plated hawk, come and find me. I already have the perfect title for the work: Dalis' Inferno.


Viconia: I feel your eyes roving over me, Tiefling. Do you see something you desire?
Haer'Dalis: Ah, Viconia my dusky jewel... I was merely admiring your natural grace, your striking beauty and your exotic voice. You could surely have made a fine career on the stage.
Viconia: No doubt, my smooth tongued bard. Yet I chose to put my talents to a greater purpose.
Haer'Dalis: What greater purpose could there be? 'Tis truly noble to court the approval of the audience.
Viconia: In drow society we have no use for the theater. We act and dissemble to advance our station. An unconvincing performance ends not with boos and catcalls, but with slow and painful death.
Haer'Dalis: No use for theater? Please excuse this wounded sparrow's flight, but I must retreat beneath the onslaught of pain such a harsh and unimaginable world brings to my heart.


Haer'Dalis: Anomen... a moment of your time, if I may. I have been observing your combat tactics recently and I wish to ask you a question.
Anomen: For what do you bother me, tiefling? I need no further comments on how I may improve my fighting style from a prancer such as yourself.
Haer'Dalis: On the contrary, dear Anomen. It is your style I now most admire, and wish to emulate.
Anomen: Truly? Well then... ask what you will and I shall strive to answer as best I may. Perhaps my technique shall save your life in combat some day.
Haer'Dalis: Combat? Oh no, you misunderstand. I would use your style for my stage performances... it is far too florid and grandiose for effective use in battle. You see, even in my fanciest spins there is always efficiency and conservation of movement... as there is in any fighting style. Except yours. Perhaps your overblown thrusts and stabs are the result of your overblown ego?
Anomen: I have better things to do than listen to your prattling!
Haer'Dalis: Very well. I shall watch you from afar, good hound, and learn what I may from mere observation.



EDWIN

Haer'Dalis: Edwin! You continue to be the most dour of companions. I worry for your humor.
Edwin: You shall see a great improvement in my disposition when I have left this petty business behind.
Haer'Dalis: Ah, great and future plans, but is not tomorrow uncertain? Could not the end of all just as likely occur today as in a millennia?
Edwin: You assume my death to be inevitable, but perhaps I think beyond those terms. Mortality seems escapable by others, so why not me?
Haer'Dalis: Edwin, do you remember the name of the ancient Netheril god of the sea?
Edwin: Eh... no.
Haer'Dalis: Everything ends, Edwin. Everything dies. The dust of a god looks much the same as yours and mine will.
Edwin: For a bard, I doubt you are much fun at parties.


Korgan: It's been a grand fight, eh mage? Can you better cap a life than with blood betwixt the toes and the flames of hell itself! Ha!
Edwin: Would someone get this bile-soaked freak away from me?
Korgan: What? No stomach for the cleavings of me axe?
Edwin: I do not fault the need for frontline offense, but I fail to see why you find it necessary to sink a blade to your elbows.
Korgan: Bah! Mages! Ye'll blast away from your mother's window but catch yer scatter-willys at the thought of blood. It's called follow-through! Feh!


Imoen: You look a little down, Edwin. You're not upset are you?
Edwin: My mood is no concern of yours, child.
Imoen: You've become less blustery, I think. Maybe... maybe you're mad because everyone else is finding destinies and prophesies and generally surpassing you in every way?
Edwin: You go too far, girl! I hold none of you above me!
Imoen: I mean, even me, little frail Imoen is a big scary Child of Bhaal now! That's got to be frustrating .
Edwin: Now that is just nonsense! All of it!
Imoen: Hey Edwin! BOO!!
Edwin: WHA! What... is it...NOW!
Imoen: He flinched! The big bad mage flinched! HAHA! Oooh, look I'm Bhaal, I'm big and scary, ooohh.
Edwin: Now that was just... you are just being...
Imoen: Oooooh, don't worry, the big bad Imoen won't scare you no more. Heeheehee... 'boo' I says, and he jumped out of his skin... (snicker)
Edwin: (grumble) ...whelp...child...monkey-brained...how would you like your flaming death you...grrrr....

CERND

Imoen: Why, hullo Cernd. You're a druid, right? Maybe you can answer a question for me.
Cernd: I am a druid, yes... and of course I would be happy to answer any of your questions, although that mischievious look of yours tells me I am about to be made fun of.
Imoen: I would never make fun of you, Cernd. Although you do look cute when you're frustrated.
Cernd: (sigh) What is it you want to know, Imoen?
Imoen: Well... how does someone become a druid? You don't just wake up one day and decide you want to go kiss a tree, do you?
Cernd: You're more intelligent than that, Imoen. Did you become a thief by accident, discovering your hand in someone's pocket one day?
Imoen: Actually, yes. I was eight years old and Winthrop had this big gold chain hanging out of the back pocket of his robes all day, staring me in the face. I just couldn't help myself.
Cernd: You know, for a girl who has been through so much and has only recently discovered herself to be Bhaalspawn, you have a remarkable talent for making light of things.
Imoen: Well, I suppose I could be all angst-ridden and mope around, but I leave that to [MAIN CHARACTER]. Oh, wait... I think he heard us. Let's go over here...


Cernd: Like dark clouds before a storm, the chains of duty weigh heavy some days.
Anomen: Duty, druid? What would a tree-hugger like you know of the chains of duty? Mucking about in the woods like an animal is not duty, but foolishness.
Cernd: The earth cradles you in her arms as she does all her children. Your lack of knowledge does nothing to change this basic fact. The heartless and the stupid continue to destroy the Mother for their own short-sighted ends. In my humble way, I protect her. This is not duty?
Anomen: Nay, it is not. To serve Helm with honor and fortitude, this is duty! Do not taint the word with your half-wit musings. You serve flowers and rodents, not truth and honor.
Minsc: Rodent?! What do you imply about my hamster?
Cernd: You cannot see the forest for the trees, Anomen. There would be no Helm to serve without a world in which you can live. Ah, but I see from your face that this goes nowhere. Think what you will, I will say no more.


Cernd: You've been on the surface for quite some time now, Viconia. Tell me... have you encountered the normal effects of prolonged exposure to the sun experienced by your kind?
Viconia: Such as an overwhelming desire to crush the skull of over-inquisitive iblith? Why, yes... the urge comes and goes.
Cernd: No, no. I was referring to the loss of your native drow abilities, like the natural resistance to magic that you possess.
Viconia: I have lost my resistance to handsome males, druid. Has anyone told you how manly you are? Come closer, Cernd... let us explore this thought further.
Cernd: Errr, no thank you. My curiosity was only related to your biology, Viconia.
Viconia: I know all manner of secrets related to biology, jaluk.
Cernd: I'm... sure you do.
Viconia: Coward.
Cernd: Perhaps, but I'm a living one. Excuse me...



MINSC

Aerie: Minsc, why don't you tell me a little about Rasheman? You've talked about it before, but never described it... and I've never heard anyone else mention it at all.
Minsc: This is because Rasheman is a very far ways away. Once Boo kept track for me of the number of steps I have taken since beginning my dajemma, but Boo has since forgotten. Boo claims that the number is very large. Larger, maybe, than the number of butts that Minsc has deservedly kicked along the way. I find this hard to believe, even though Boo is usually very reliable in these matters.
Aerie: Yes...so Rasheman is very far away. But what sort of place is it? Did you like it?
Minsc: It is a wonderful place with many fields. It could only be better, maybe, if every ranger of the Berserker Lodge had his very own hamster. Just think of the implications!
Aerie: But what of the witches? You said Dynaheir was a witch, right?
Minsc: Yes, Dynaheir was a good Rashemani witch. But I am not so certain that the witches have need of their own hamsters. Dynaheir never approved of Boo...she used to glare at Boo so it frightened him sometimes.
Aerie: (giggle!) Oh, never mind, you big galoot.


Viconia: Minsc, I am finding myself unable to deny your effectiveness in battle.
Minsc: Eh... Boo, was that a compliment?
Viconia: Oh, it was, and your response is the reason for my query. Just how old is Boo?
Minsc: Boo? He is young by the standards of his miniature giant cohorts.
Viconia: So he has exceeded the normal lifespan of a normal rodent of his type?
Minsc: I believe he takes offense to the term 'rodent'.
Viconia: Perhaps he bears examining. Some form of exploratory dissection. It was an art in my homeland.
Minsc: You know, try as he might, Boo just doesn't get your kind of humor.


Minsc: Haer'Dalis, are you laughing at Boo and I? You are smiling after many of our battles.
Haer'Dalis: Oh, my dear Minsc, you and Boo are wonderful, make no mistake. So chaotic, so unpredictable. Such a fist in the eye of sense and reason.
Minsc: Uh... but mostly in the eyes of evil, right?
Haer'Dalis: HA! Yes, Minsc, mostly a fist in the eyes of evil. Do not let me change a thing you do.
Minsc: Boo, I think this bard is a little off in the head, no?



SAREVOK

Viconia: Sarevok, may I share a whispered word with you?
Sarevok: Yes, drow? What is it you want?
Viconia: I miss the customs of my homeland, like the breaking in of new pleasure slaves. The largest and strongest were the hardest to break, but they were the most rewarding. Sarevok, I find your great size... intriguing.
Sarevok: Were you to break me, Viconia, you might find nothing but the chill emptiness of the grave within.
Viconia: That does not repulse me as you might imagine. We drow are ever eager to broaden our... experiences.
Sarevok: I orchestrated a war to slaughter thousands. I have felt the cold embrace of death. I have witnessed the horrors of the Abyss. But you, Viconia... you scare me.
Viconia: Cowards everywhere I turn! If you find your courage, Sarevok, seek me out.


Sarevok: What is it, mage? You spare no opportunity to examine me and I would know why.
Edwin: I do not like walking with the enemy. I can barely stand keeping my allies so close, and yet here I am consorting with you.
Sarevok: Ah, so you are the great loner, ready to assault the world on your own. Foolish.
Edwin: Is it? You were no more content as a lowly member of the team than I.
Sarevok: I rose to power by choosing who I followed carefully and surrounding myself with beings of power. My tactic has not changed, and will be fruitful in the end.
Edwin: Well, I suppose I should be grateful to be included. I look forward to being a part of your next defeat.
Sarevok: You remind me of a younger me, mage, before I was slaughtered and sent to the pits of hell. Think on that before you burn your bridges.


Viconia: Sarevok, have you had opportunity to consider my earlier offer? Untold pleasures await you if you would but submit to me.
Sarevok: I have considered it, Viconia. And I must reject you and your... temptations.
Viconia: A pity your manhood is so lacking. I am a cruel mistress, but my slaves always found their subjugation to be most satisfying to their own physical desires as well.
Sarevok: When Bhaal held sway over my soul, I reveled in the bloody carnage I wrought. But my will was not my own. As captivating as your dominance might be, Viconia, I will not surrender my being to the whims of another again... be they God or drow.
Viconia: Then you are of no further interest to me, rivel... though I suspect your dreams will be filled with dark imaginings of the hedonistic pleasures you have denied yourself. But even your dreams will be but a pale shadow of my true decadence.
Sarevok: Of that, Viconia, I have no doubt.

MAZZY

Aerie: Mazzy? Do you think you'll ever be a true paladin for Arvoreen?
Mazzy: I am a Truesword for my god, Aerie. That is as close as I can expect to come. To hope for otherwise would be foolish and naive of me.
Aerie: Yes, but I was told that there was a time that halflings were rogues only... that you would never find one that was a cleric or even a warrior such as yourself anywhere.
Mazzy: That's true, if unfortunate. But that was a long time ago, Aerie... things have changed since then.
Aerie: But maybe things could change again? Maybe your people could become paladins and rangers and even mages one day, without limitation. Wouldn't that be exciting?
Mazzy: Yes, yes, and maybe my people will become skinny, wear shoes and have big, long skulls. Really, Aerie, you needn't keep your head in the clouds ALL the time.
Aerie: Well, it was just a thought.
Mazzy: And it wasn't a bad one. But it's not likely that the gods are going to revamp the halflings and come out with a 'third edition', as it were, now, is it?
Aerie: Oh, you never know. The gods do strange things, sometimes.


Mazzy: Korgan? While I may rue the fact that I even brought the subject up, I feel compelled to ask you something.
Korgan: Aha! I knew ye would give in to yer heart sooner or later! So, what's it to be, lass? A kiss an' a tickle now or later?
Mazzy: You see? This is exactly it! Besides the fact that I have rebuffed every advance, you yet live under this delusion? Why, Korgan? Why do you even bother?
Korgan: I bother because yer a sweet thing, lass. Yer a halfling of a like I've ne'er seen before, an' I kin afford to be persistent.
Mazzy: Persistence is irrelevant in this case, Korgan. Please stop. It makes me very uncomfortable.
Korgan: T'was ye who brought th' subject up, Mazzy. There be truth in that, I think.
Mazzy: Well, now I do regret it, after all.
Korgan: So... I suppose a tickle be out of th' question, then, aye?
Mazzy: You are a disgusting brute. Leave me be.



JAN

Sarevok: I've been thinking, gnome... about a certain trading deal my stepfather made several years ago.
Jan: Your stepfather, eh? Was he a megalomaniac as well? Must have been quite a merchant. Was he into crate building, perchance? Everywhere I look I see crates... business must be lucrative.
Sarevok: My stepfather was with the Iron Throne. He negotiated once for a very lucrative land deal with a gnome named Count Turnipsome, as I recall.
Jan: Ah, yes. I know the fellow. Handsome young gnome, apple of his mother's eye. Wealthy, debonaire, beloved by all. Your stepfather was a fortunate man to have met him.
Sarevok: I wouldn't say the same. The land the Count sold him turned out to be useless swampland overrun by umber hulks and bugbears. My stepfather was almost ejected from the Iron Throne as a result.
Jan: Now that sounds like quite a tragedy. Tsk. There are some mighty crooked people out there. Gnomes, even. Just terrible.
Sarevok: I swore that I would take instant vengeance on that gnome if I ever found him.
Jan: Well, it's ummm... it's a good thing for him you never have, hm?
Sarevok: No doubt. I've been saving some rather excrutiating torture techniques for the occasion.
Jan: Uhhh... yes, yes. I see. (ahem!) I'll just go stand over by [MAIN CHARACTER] for a while. Nothing personal, I just felt the wind change.


Edwin: Out with it, gnome! I see that you are fabricating another of your fanciful lies as you look at me!
Jan: Oh, don't get all huffy. It's just that, at this angle you look a lot like my Uncle Ager of the Tomes.
Edwin: Ah, and I suppose he had a comical disfigurement, or his mind fell a few coppers short of a silver, or that his tremendous odor kept the stars afloat, or some other thinly disguised failing told ONLY to demean me in the eyes of others!
Jan: Eh, no, he was a mage. Tell me, Edwin, are you having trouble at home?
Edwin: (sigh) Go away, gnome. Go away.


Jan: Korgy old pal, have I ever told you how much you remind me of my uncle Uriah Twin-Hammers?
Korgan: Watch yer step, gnome. If ye make me angry, I'll bury the head of me axe so far up yer backside yer breath will smell like magic metal!
Jan: That's exactly the kind of thing Twin-Hammers would say. He was a ruthless, savage, bloodthristy outlaw who would kill anyone or anything that got in his way. He used to repeatedly terrorize a certain gnomish village he frequently wandered through in his never ending quest for profit and bloodshed.
Korgan: A man after me own black heart! Carry on, gnome... ye got me blood stirrin'!
Jan: Of course, all good things come to an end. Fed up with Uriah's antics, the village hired a hero to protect them and enforce the law - the legendary Clint Hackman (so named for his habit of chopping his foes to little bits). With the townsfolk peering from their windows the outlaw and the famous lawman stared each other down in the center of the dusty, deserted street. Cold as ice, Uriah said: 'I've killed women and children. I've killed everything that walks or crawls on this earth. And now I'm here to kill you.' Alas, Uriah met his end in that street. With his first blow he broke his hammer on Hackman's shield, and that was it. Weaponless, he wasn't much of a match for the mighty Clint. If my uncle had only been named Twin-Hammer because he carried two weapons he might still be alive today. But Uriah got his nickname for the mighty hammer he carried in his belt and the even mightier... uh, 'hammer' he had *beneath* his belt, if you get my drift. A fine instrument to have, but not much good in a fight.
Korgan: HAR! HAR! HAR! 'Tis a good thing ye know yer audience, gnome... me axe stays in my belt.


Aerie: You seem to be limping, Jan. Have you been hurt recently?
Jan: No, lass, I'm not hurt and the limp is not new. I've had it as long as you've known me. 'Tis a wooden leg you see. I was smuggling crackers into Waterdeep several years back (the Council had outlawed them due to near constant cracker-related debauchery, you see... I couldn't let THAT pass...) The Council had sealed off all ports and mobilized the army to stop illegal cracker entry. The city was shut down, martial law was declared and people huddled in their homes for fear and want of crackers. I could not stand idly by while such persecution was visited on the somewhat innocent peoples of Waterdeep. So I smuggled crackers. Salted, unsalted and herb-riddled alike, it mattered not. All came in and all were consumed in secret orgies of cracker-related tomfoolery. Then came the unpleasant business with the hanging. I hadn't seen Picklefeather's eyes bulge like that since that wyvern kicked him in the ba...(oops! Innocent elvish lass, have to watch the tongue) uh... in the arm (yes, that will do). The moral of the story is, you reap what you steal. I still own a warehouse full of saltines. I send a box to all of my friends each year. Seem to have fewer friends each year as a result, but that's to be expected.
Aerie: What does that have to do with your wooden leg?
Jan: What wooden leg? I have no wooden leg.
Aerie: Grrr! You're IMPOSSIBLE!
Jan: Why yes, I suppose I am, at that. (grin)


VALYGAR

Valygar: Haer'Dalis! Must you insist on plucking away at that blasted instrument?
Haer'Dalis: I must keep it in tune, good sir, lest I strike a sour note with my listeners.
Valygar: Every time you open your mouth you strike a sour note with me, bard.
Haer'Dalis: A thrust of wit from the dark hawk's rapier! I had not thought it in you, dear Valygar. Have you been practicing your verbal exchanges with the trees? Alas they do not strike back.
Valygar: Cease your barking, bard and leave me alone.
Haer'Dalis: 'Bark'? 'Leave'? Yet more jests, building on my tree remark? Or just lucky puns, like wisdom tumbling from the lips of a fool?
Valygar: It took you long enough to grasp the root of my remarks.
Haer'Dalis: Oh mercy, great punsman, I beg thee! Your life of solitude has done nothing to dull the stinging points of your stabbing words. I shall retire to a safe distance, and resume my plucking beyond your earshot.
Valygar: Thank you, Haer'Dalis. That is all I asked in the first place.

Originally posted by Aqua-chan
Korgan is more neutral than evil, I believe. Sure, he's all blood and gore, but he's actually more gentle (!?!) then people make him out to be...

Well, I respectfully disagree with that assessment of Korgan. Here are some dialogues that may or may not change your mind. There's nothing funny about the first two, but maybe you'll get a chuckle from the third (but only because Jan is telling a story).



KORGAN

Korgan: Ach, Sarevok! Yer a bloody killin' machine, ye are!
Sarevok: Violence has always come easily to me. It seems little has changed. In the cold nether realm, while I waited to be reborn, I sorely missed the crimson spray and the hot tang of death on my tongue.
Korgan: Aye, well said me armor-plated friend! Welcome back to the land of the living, where the chance to reap a gruesome slaughter lurks around every corner! Har-har-har!


Korgan: Ach, I be wonderin' if I might talk to ye, Valygar. Just to pass the time, ye know.
Valygar: I doubt we have much in common to talk about, dwarf.
Korgan: Ye might be surprised, ranger. I understand ye killed yer family - we have that much in common. Aye, that we do.
Valygar: You... were also forced by circumstance to spill the blood of your kin?
Korgan: 'Twas inevitable. When me father died there was barely enough inheritance to go around fer me and my three brothers. I had to protect my future, ye understand.
Valygar: We have nothing in common, you vile murderer! When I spilled the blood of my mother it was to cleanse the world of her evil necromancy, not for selfish personal gain!
Korgan: Dead is dead, and killing is killing, my lanky friend. Ye can sugar coat it all ye want, but when we go to our family reunions we both stand alone, aye?
Valygar: I did what I had to do, Korgan. No more, no less. But you... you are an animal! You kill for pleasure. It is a sickness on your soul, and I want no part of it. Speak to me no more.
Korgan: Hmph - fine, ye prissy. I'll leave ye alone. But when the fighting starts ye'll be glad Korgan and his 'sickness' are by yer side splittin' the skulls of yer enemies!


Korgan: 'Tis been far too long since our last battle. Jan, ye runty windbag, tell me a story to ward off the boredom... and if ye know what's good fer ye, it'll be about dwarves!
Jan: Ah, finally someone who appreciates my tales! A story about dwarves, eh? Let me see... of course - my cousin Kimble. Not himself a dwarf, per say, but Kimble always was of peculiar tastes for a gnome. He fell in love with a dwarven lass. She was stout and stocky, with a gruff voice and a soft, supple, full beard...
Korgan: Ah, gnome, ye know how to paint a lovely picture... such a beauty she must ha' been!
Jan: Oh yes, she was a fine looking woman... to Kimble's eyes, at least. She cast a spell on him far stronger than any sorcerer ever could. But she wouldn't have anything to do with my cousin - she had dwarven princes and clan lords after her calloused hand, and she couldn't be bothered with a dirt poor turnip farming gnome. But Kimble's heart wouldn't be denied... he left his own family to follow this bewitching creature back to her clan home.
Korgan: Yer losin me, gnome... I don't want some weepy love story. I want killin' and death! Give me blood!
Jan: You wanted a story about dwarves, and this is the only one I've got. I can't just make up a lie, you know... that would be an affront to the grand tradition of storytelling in my family! Now, where was I? Oh yes, Kimble. My cousin followed the lovely dwarven lass to her clan home in the Alimir Mountains, and started a turnip farm there. He had a rough go of it at first, let me tell you... taxes, levies, zoning restrictions. It was almost like the dwarves didn't want him and his farm there. But they had never tried turnips, so they didn't really know what they were missing. Once those turnips started to sprout things changed in a hurry. Turns out the dwarves of that particular clan LOVED turnips. Fried, baked, boiled, whipped, pureed, mashed - you couldn't find a meal of the day that they didn't have turnips with. Turnips became so fashionable the dwarves began to wear clothes made from turnips. Never did a dwarf look so snazzy (or smell so appetizing) as when he was dressed up in a turnip top hat and turnip tails, with turnip skin shoes to complete the ensemble. And with his turnip business booming, Kimble found himself with more wealth than he knew what to do with. Just walking around his house was an effort, what with all the mountains of gold spilling out of every door of every room.
Korgan: All that gold got my attention, gnome, but the happy ending isn't doin' much fer me.
Jan: Happy ending? I never said any such thing. Kimble was rich, true enough - but it turns out his dwarven love didn't share her clan's fondness for turnips. In fact, she was deathly allergic. She did her best to avoid the lethal vegetables, but as popular as Kimble's crops were it was only a matter of time until she accidentally ate one. It killed her, of course. Heartbroken, Kimble tried to return to his own people. But the dwarves weren't just going to let him and his turnips leave. They threw him in prison and demanded he reveal the secrets of turnip farming, but that isn't something you can just teach. You either have the gift or you don't, and dwarves don't. In the end Kimble's frail body succumbed to the dwarves' torture and interrogation and he left to join his beloved in the afterlife. And that particular clan of dwarves discovered that turnip farmers were almost as tasty as the turnips themselves. Or so I've heard.
Korgan: HAR! HAR! HAR! A great tale, gnome. Ye done yerself proud!

Please stop posting.

Why stop?
I think Lilarcor is funny but he isn't a NPC, I also like Minsc with Boo the giant miniature space hamster.
I also like Jan but sometimes he gets on my nerves because most of his dialogues are kind of large.

duzz...

Those are all the dialogues I intended to post. I'm sorry if my posts upset anyone, but I'm glad that other people enjoyed them. Cheers!