I am ashamed to admit that, while I bought Baldur’s Gate 3 immediately at the launch of its early access period in October 2020, it took me just short of five years to finish my first playthrough of the game. A combination of insufficient hardware and different life priorities got in the way, but my attention and interest in the game never waned. Baldur’s Gate 2 is probably the most important video game I’ve played in my life, so my level of excitement whenever I could dive into the sequel is hard to understate, especially considering the showers of praise the game received over the years.
Sadly, I ended my saga on a low note.
When I finally got to confront the Netherbrain, I was excited to see how the team at Larian Studios would weave together the strands of the game’s story, shaped by my choices and interpretation. But for me, these strands didn’t exactly come together. In the final beats of Act 3, I tried to be as selfless as possible in my decisions, acting as an archetypical hero. As a consequence, I was locked out of all the most interesting endgame content.
I embarked on my Baldur’s Gate 3 quest playing a Bard-Paladin multiclass (“Bardadin”, in the game lingo), a choice that, I admit, was motivated by min-maxing my build. I regret it not only because it made my first playthrough way too easy, but also because it made no sense from a roleplay perspective. In my (admittedly, a bit old-school) vision of D&D and its world, a Bard represents the drive of freedom and independence, while a Paladin is the epitome of the strength that comes from a binding vow. The Oathbreaker path in Baldur’s Gate 3 offers an interesting variation on the Paladin theme, but, in terms of the decision I made and the dialogues I picked, I played as a Bard for the entire game.
That is, until it was time to free Orpheus. For those who haven’t played the game — or are still working through it one day at a time based on your relatably busy schedule — Orpheus is the long-lost leader of the Githyanki species, who is kept prisoner inside the Astral Prism, the artifact at the center of most of Act 1 and Act 2 of the game, where the mysterious Emperor syphons his powers to protect you and your party from the mind-dominating influence of the Elder Brain. The time comes when, following the wishes of your Githyanki companion Lae’zel, you come to free Orpheus, as he is the only one who can lead his people to freedom from the tyrannic rule of a fake god, the Lich Queen Vlaakith.
While this quest is optional, I freed Orpheus because I had Lae’zel in my party since the beginning, and I had come to appreciate her as a companion. Also, the freedom of an entire species felt kind of important, a value that resonated with the personality of my character. However, as I released Orpheus from his shackles, I also learned that, to defeat the Netherbrain, I only had two choices: transform Orpheus into a Mind Flayer (thus preventing him from becoming the messiah of his people), or turn into one myself. The game presents this choice to you suddenly and only with a brief explanation, so I stopped to ponder my course of action for a while. My character’s drive was freedom, and to get rid of the worm-shaped enslaving device the Illithid had put in his brain. Turning into one of the creatures I loathed so much was revolting in more ways than one. However, the fate of an entire galactic civilization was at stake, so I decided to do the right thing and take the bullet. At the moment, it made sense to sacrifice my freedom for that of countless others, and perhaps, it was my Paladin side finally coming to light, making sense of my build.
It did surprise me, however, that none of my companions seemed to particularly care about my choice, especially my romantic partner, Karlach. She literally had zero comments for my sudden squid-like form! Progressive, maybe, but as someone excited to see every consequence play out on screen, it felt like an oversight from Larian. Not that I was looking for pity or recognition for saving an entire species, but that made my painful choice feel irrelevant. Later, after having had to endure the entire final fight(s) of the game in Illithid form (but I made a point to never use the powers this form granted me), I finally reached the much-touted ending of Baldur’s Gate 3, where all the story threads come to unravel and you get to witness the conclusion not just to your story, but to that of all your companions. Except that didn’t happen.
Lae’zel and Orpheus departed for their space crusade without asking me to accompany them. Standing alone on the docks of Baldur’s Gate, I pondered my fate. Having an Illithid body apparently comes with the Illithid instinct to murder, enslave, and eat brains (except that, during the game, you meet one friendly Illithid who is immune to the worst impulses of his species), so I was again put in front of a choice: Would I keep living, risking to lose what was left of my personality and perhaps one day hurt the people I love, or would I take my own life? I decided on the latter, as I was firmly set on the hero path by then, and it made no sense to step away at the end. Again, this selfless act was ignored by my romance partner, who watched me plunge a knife in my guts with no reaction. Also, without me, Karlach didn’t have anyone to convince her to go back to Avernus before her engine overheated (except, you know, the other eight people she had shared this long and crazy adventure with), so she immolated. The end. Roll credits.
I made what seemed like the two most selfless choices in the entire game, and my reward was a two-minute-long sequence with Withers chatting up my soul in the void. I didn’t get to see what happened to my companions, as I was excluded by the famous “six months later” playable epilogue that Larian added in patch 5, which contains 3,589 new lines of dialogue. (I was dead, duh.) After years spent looking at all these cool endings online — I couldn’t help myself — I was given the saddest, most anonymous conclusion to my 200-plus hours of gameplay. Because I decided to do the right thing.
I am aware that the definition of “doing the right thing” varies for each individual, but it was interesting to notice that Larian decided to reward what is usually considered heroic behavior in this type of setting with the least interesting and exciting ending you can get in the game. With all the crazy magic in the world of D&D, it wasn’t unthinkable that my friends, or the millions of people whose lives I saved, could find someone able to perform a Resurrection or Reincarnation spell. (And before you mention that Illithid do not have souls, the final sequence with Withers confirmed the opposite.) Or, at least, I could have watched over the epilogue party in Scrooge-like fashion, getting to witness how life went on without me. Or, you know, the woman who was in love with me could have spared one word when she saw me take my life.
Baldur’s Gate 3 remains a monumental milestone in video games and RPG history, despite what I feel was inconsistent storytelling. Some parts and characters are excellent, others felt rushed and underbaked. Perhaps, this is an inherent flaw with the endlessly expanding stories that are being told in games. Baldur’s Gate 3 has dozens of endings, and some of them feel less solid than the others. My reaction to it might be yet another twist on the anything-is-possible formula. By incorporating so many endings and so many choices, Larian ended up relinquishing control of being able to deliver a satisfying conclusion 100 percent of the time. The gamble is successful play for immersion, but for me, a failure in terms of telling a complete and fulfilling story.
