In the second installment of Ashwynn’s journey through the Forgotten Realms, she makes a mistake that leads to countless lost lives, fends off the will of the mysterious Absolute, poisons some goblins, and unintentionally lets her Dark Urge out at the worst possible moment.
Hey, remember that leader from the last journal, Kahga, the one who sicced a venomous snake on a child? As it turns out, she has work for us: she wants us to drive the refugee tieflings out of the town grove, all so she can seal it away perfectly with a rite. Only druids will be allowed, and everyone else will be left to fend for themselves. I may be a killer, but even this is too much for me. Goblins have been battering at the grove’s doors whenever they feel like it, and if we push the refugees outside…well, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what will happen to them.
Under the guise of “negotiating” with them, I meet the refugees’ leader, Zevlor. I tell him of Kahga’s plans, but instead of ordering the refugees to leave, I offer to kill Kahga myself. Zevlor approves, adding that he’d be more than happy to pay me once she’s dead. Finally, my murderous tendencies may do some good!
Unfortunately, it’s here where my awful tabletop instincts get the better of me. I’m not the best at thinking two steps ahead: if I see a direct approach forward, I’ll take it. How effective will the approach be? What will be the immediate aftereffect? I don’t ask myself any of these questions. Which is how I ended up marching back into Kahga’s base of operations, surrounded by her closest allies…and declared “Girl, I’m going to kill you.”
Of course, I immediately had a tough fight in store, one where I learned enemies can disarm you! Shadowheart couldn’t hold onto her mace for more than a turn before it was blasted out of her hand. Still, I was making steady progress chipping away at her and her posse. I could do this. I could take my disastrous approach and turn it around into a W.
Then, mid-battle, a notification shook me to my core: Zevlor has died. The same Zevlor that was standing around in his own base, on the opposite side of the grove! A battle was raging outside of our little skirmish, and the more time I spent preoccupied here, the less of a chance I’d have to intervene. The money I wouldn’t make was the last thing on my mind: I started this, so I had to clean the gigantic goddamn mess I’d just made.
A few turns later, Kahga and her circle of allies were down. I looted them, sprinted out of her base, and collided headfirst with a nightmare. Tiefling bodies were strewn everywhere, and the backup druids had the remaining refugees pinned down near the jail cell, opening fire on them. I let out a deep sigh, pushing my allies towards the fray. As much as blood typically excites me, the fact that it happened because of my utter incompetence made me grind my teeth. No matter how many druids I had to kill, I couldn’t let even one more tiefling pay for my actions.
Thankfully, I prevented even more refugees from dying under my watch. But once the dust settled, I didn’t like what I saw. What had once been a thriving little grove, filled with children playing War, weary adults saving up energy for the journey ahead, and merchants with sticky fingers was now barren. Ample bloodstains now laid where refugees once stood. I indulged in one more round of self-hatred, took a deep breath, then marched out of the front gates. If I wanted to save the few refugees that were left from yet another attack, I had a goblin camp to take care of.
On the road ahead, I ran into a curious sight: a dying dwarf looked into my eyes and declared I was a True Soul. His companions, sensing my confusion, claimed that I was one of the lucky few destined to follow the orders of “The Absolute,” a god that would remake the world in their image. The dwarf clearly had the same telepathic abilities I carried, which meant there were others carrying the parasite, following the orders of some unseen god. An ill omen if I’ve ever seen one.
I sent the dwarf’s followers to fight a cave troll on their lonesome (I may have my own ethical code, but I’m still a fucking bastard), then ran right into a goblin-occupied town. This wasn’t the camp I was looking for, but a town full of goblins is still nothing to sneeze at! Thankfully, I had good ol’ Persuasion checks at my side.
Is there anything better than having a high Persuasion stat in a game like this? One of the watchmen question me, and all it takes is a simple “I haven’t drawn my quarterstaff yet, so clearly we’re all chill, right?” to make them nod and let me through. The rare goblin that questions my presence gets a similar answer, while the rest go about their business. Of course, once I get into the heart of the goblin camp, I’ll have to break my cover and bloody my staff yet again. For now? I’m enjoying my free ride to my destination, chuckling at all these foolish fiends who don’t know what’s in store for their brethren.
After passing by a gatekeeper (one that tries and fails to trick me into smearing shit across my face), I soon discover that I’m not adequately prepared for this, either. Our party drops to our knees in the middle of a bridge, overwhelmed by an unknown voice coursing through our heads, compelling us to find a weapon for three, shadow-cloaked figures towering above us. Thankfully, Shadowheart’s mysterious artifact tumbles into view, shaking away the voice’s grip on our minds as we all find our feet.
It doesn’t take much time to realize that was the Absolute, or that our parasites make us susceptible to their control. None of the goblins were around to see all that, but the thought that we’re not entirely in control of ourselves leaves my footing unsteady as we push into the lion’s den.
Luckily for us, the goblins inside the camp aren’t any smarter than the ones patrolling it! I talk my way into the party, where everyone’s celebrating a successful raid, getting drunk off their asses and poking at the human “pet” they’ve acquired, Volo. I make it a point of criticizing his nonsense vocabulary as he’s boasting of the goblins’ accomplishments: the interruption is too much for the poor writer to handle, and as he stammers away, an especially drunk woman takes him away into the holding cells deeper in. One more person that I’ll have to go out of my way to save. Sigh.
I scope out the party and notice an interactable keg! Feeling for the wyvern poison in my pockets, I know exactly what I must do: the trouble is, I must fight the game’s stealth system tooth and nail to make it happen. Ashwynn’s stealth points are shit, and even though the light-footed Astarion is right there next to me, I want to be the one to do it! So I repeatedly mash the C key on my keyboard (I’m brought out of stealth whenever one of the goblins sees me), wave off nearly a dozen goblins asking why I’m acting suspicious near their ale, then finally slip in the wyvern poison after far too many attempts.
As folks crowd around the keg, I’m asked to make a toast. I rattle off a simple “To the Absolute,” pretending to drink the alcohol while pouring every last drop onto the ground, and after a few moments, a surprising number of foot soldiers lay dead on the ground. It’s at this point that my girlfriend Kyrie leans over to me and asks “What is your body count up to now, Jennifer?” I search for a definitive answer, come up short, and proceed into the depths of the camp: a surprisingly large keep.
Once inside, each of the three camp leaders we must assassinate are surprisingly kept far from one another. So far, in fact, that I can take out each one of them individually, with the other leaders and their foot-soldiers kept in the dark! Their zone-based ignorance is a little too video gamey for my tastes (there aren’t any doors, so you’d figure at least some sound would carry across the distance!), but it makes the job easier: I make short work of the priestess near the front, make a quick detour to free Volo from his cage, then have a word with the leader’s right-hand commander.
This elven commander is far more suspicious of us than the priestess. She intently probes our party’s minds, which is how we make an unfortunate discovery: this “weapon” the Absolute and the camp are searching for is the same artifact carried by Shadowheart, and she must do her damnedest not to think about it so this dark elf doesn’t catch on. I breathe a sigh of relief when she doesn’t figure it out, but that relief turns to terror when she announces her plans to raid the grove we were at earlier. Obviously, we can’t have that! Instead of going along with her plans, I decide she needs to die, then and there.
And this is where I finally had to relent, switching the difficulty to Easy. I’ve never been able to interface well with CRPG combat, and while I made it this far by the skin of my teeth, each fight takes too much out of me to survive. The constant deaths and reloads wore me down, and through the process of fighting this dark elf and her evil, floating eye, I realize Easy is plenty hard, too. I survive on the first try, but we’re all so bruised and bloodied that we need to make camp and call a Long Rest.
I wake up with a fever, and Lae’zel brings a knife to my throat. She insists that we’re finally turning into those goddamned mindflayers, and that I and everyone else in the camp needs to die before that happens. I wave the problem off: I know enough medical jargon to convince her that we’ve had a long day, and our bodies need some time to recuperate. For now, she sheathes her blade, and the two of us drift back to sleep.
More bad news arrives in my dreams: as it turns out, I really am on the verge of transformation, and the only thing keeping the changes at bay is this beautiful, nameless halfling, fighting to protect me. Suspiciously, she also wants me to “accept” the power my parasite grants me, feeding and wielding it rather than running away from it. But sure enough, when I wake up, everyone’s fevers are gone. I’ll trust her…for now.
The fight against the goblin leader is an uneventful one, but even on Easy, it once again kicked everyone’s ass. Time for another makeshift camp! Only this time, a tiefling bard from the grove makes an appearance. I’m impressed that she made it all the way from the grove, sneaking around what remained of the goblins to reach me, so I grant her request to travel alongside us. Her enthusiasm is infectious, to the point where even the ever-grumpy Astarion approves of this turn of events. I hit the hay for the evening, pleased to have another excitable companion lifting the spirits of our little group.
Oh, Ashwynn. You naïve, murderous fool.
I wake up…standing? That’s odd enough on its own, but then I look down and notice something far more unsettling: our bard friend is coated in blood, her entrails are hanging out of her stomach, and her face is contorted into what looks like a terrified scream. Only one thought surfaces, reinforced by the blood coating my hands.
I did this. And as this reality sinks in, the worst part is that I’m not even that bothered! If anything, it’s relieving that this wasn’t the work of a stranger. But my dark passenger also chimes in, saying that if anything, I should be impressed with myself. Most people couldn’t do this awake, let alone in their sleep. What does that make me capable of when I’m fully alert?
I shake off that train of thought. The important thing is that there’s a dead girl in our camp, and the others could stir awake at any moment. I wash my hands thoroughly, ensuring that not a drop remains, then fall back asleep. When the others wake up and are understandably shocked, they buy my excuse that a boar came through, though Astarion flicks a suspicious grin in my direction. A boar did this? In the heart of a besieged goblin camp, while we’re still indoors? My lie was backed up by a successful roll, but he knows what’s up. Thankfully, this is Astarion we’re talking about, so he’s more than willing to look the other way.
As we pack up the camp and set out to our next destination, Kyrie’s question echoes in my head. I’m never like this when I play other RPGs: I stick to the Good options, resolutely walking a path that ensures I can be a paragon of justice. Any other path would be unthinkable! But in Baldur’s Gate 3? I’m tallying an already-massive kill count, filled with enemies and the unfortunate alike, and all I can think is that it could be bigger. The power of role-playing can be terrifying to behold.
Still, I can rest easy knowing that I had at least some level of restraint. After all, I didn’t do that elven commander’s bidding and attack the grove, did I? …oh. Oh right. I totally killed all those druids before I even met her. I sided with an enemy before I even met her. Goddamn it.
