Baldur's Gate 3 Oneshots & Short Stories

Bloody The Mirror pt.1

Tav finds themself in a bit of an unforeseen predicament.

Content warning: descriptions of injuries, indications of torture

Noncanonical events outside the main story line, no spoilers, Tav has sorcerer abilities

Word count: 1440

---

The days seem endless as one foot lands in front of the other. The oppressive trees make even Karlach and Halsin's stature appear humble. There are worse places to be trapped, however - trudging through the thick woods, and with worse company. The air of this expansive forest is cool and humid and carries the scent of a nearby river, its soft babbling heard in the distance. Local fauna send the leaves rustling as bird song blends with the party's idle chatter.

"You will never let that go, will you?" Tav says with exasperation. Astarion's shit-eating grin might be permanent at this point, given how long he's teased the subject.

"The man does not shut up about 'being Mystra's chosen' and 'having laid with a goddess.' I wish I had your ability to forget about it, frankly."

"I did not forget!"

Shadowheart doesn't even look their way when she speaks. "Didn't you refer to her as 'some other pretentious wizard?'" She adds, all too smugly.

"It was a mistake. I apologize I don't actively think about Gale's ex while fighting for our lives!" 

Astarion responds smug as ever. "His ex, the goddess of magic."

"Can we please stop talking about my ex!" Gale exclaims. His face is almost as red as Karlach's. Everyone - save Gale, of course - shares a laugh over the banter. The red fades from Gale as he turns to Tav.

"Maybe all your teasing is what's landed you in your magicless predicament, hm?" Tav meets him with an amused, innocent smile.

"Which is why I'm endlessly confident that you're the one who can fix it." Gale rolls his eyes, unable to hide his smile. Halsin speaks for the first time in quite a while, his expression a bit puzzled.

"It still eludes me, at least as a natural phenomenon. What kind of power could nullify that of a sorcerer's?"

"I'm not sure," Tav responds. Their next statement is dramatic and humorous, attempting to lighten the mood once more. "Perhaps a power similar to that of vampires walking in the sun. Or mindflayer tadpoles being delayed. Or Gale having sex with a god." The group fills the air with laughter once more, except Gale. "Good thing I'm plenty useful with a blade."

Lae'zel turns their way with an eyebrow raised. "Not useful enough. You're out of practice."

"I didn't think that was possible given our occupation and all," Karlach comments. Tav shrugs, gaze now pointed at the forest floor as it moves past.

"Bad habits I suppose, magic is easy to rely on. We just need to find something for me to practice against."

"Oh," Astarion smirks. "That shouldn't be too difficult for us."

---

It's not easy to keep time in a cave. There's not much of a routine to rely on either. That malicious wretch will come down every once in a while, but she spaces her visits inconsistently. I suppose keeping you unaware of the passage of time would make you easier to break, but she didn't account for you being so stubborn. You've given up guessing how long you've been held captive in the hag's liar. You're certain that she's also magically thwarting your concept of time to make your imprisonment seem that much more unbearable. You're sore, starving, and dehydrated. The thorny, crooked branches that hold your arms out to the sides have undoubtedly left wounds that will scar, if you're able to be free of them that is. Your back aches from being hunched over your knees, but the ground is infinitely more comfortable than when you've been held aloft by your thorny bindings - your toes don't even touch the ground.

All the suffering a hag could impose on you has done nothing to loosen your tongue. Your loyalty to your party and the desire to keep them safe holds fast and steady as an arrow. You don't know how long you've been replaced, but each day they spend with that imposter is one day too long. The only option you have to aid your friends is to keep your mouth shut. Doppelgangers are dangerous alone: their ability to sense surface-level thoughts already makes them treacherous. Kidnapping the victims they impersonate is not unheard of, but cooperating with a hag is. You've been in no position to discern the specifics of their agreement, but you intimately understand one such condition: you. Doppelgangers can only go so long pretending to be someone else based on their surface level thoughts alone. With how close you've grown to each of your companions, it makes sense they'd want the source material on hand. As for partnering with a hag, well, who better to extract personal information?

You're muscles tense at the sound of crackling branches. The thick wall of bramble pulls open like a curtain for Acrid Sybil Swampstalker, but she insists you call her "Miss Sybil." Her unnaturally lanky form creaks with every step she takes towards you. Her head almost scrapes against the tall cave ceiling, even with her considerable hunch. Her long fingernails dig into your flesh as she grabs your cheeks and cranes your head to meet her gaze.

"I hate seeing you starve my dear, but I can't give you a treat until you do as you're told."

Her voice is low and gruff, which sours the innocent inflection of her words. Her eyes are completely black with just a tiny red pupil in the center of each. Her teeth are much longer than that of any creature you've seen, so much so they resemble the bars of a cage. You've learned that trying to speak with Miss Sybil commonly results in her twisting your words worse than you could prepare for. Your only response is the most dangerous glare you can muster. She clicks her tongue disapprovingly and throws your head to the side. With the flick of a finger, the branches binding your arms pull taught, raising you off the ground and into the air. You groan and wince feeling the thorns burrow deeper into your flesh. Sybil strides over to her work bench. It's cluttered with bottles of ghastly ingredients and torture implements that have been stained with your blood.

"All this time together and you still don't cooperate? I'm hurt, dear."

You jump each time bottles clang together as she shuffles through her cursed work space. All you can do is close your eyes, and attempt to steal your mind for whatever horror she'll subject you to next. You don't even look at her when you hear her cackle; her bones creaking once again as she faces you, undoubtedly planning something truly gruesome.

"This may sting a bit, dear."

---

It was Astarion who noticed first, and it didn't take long either. Reading between the lines and picking up on deceit were skills he had centuries to develop. Over less than a tenday, a cheap copycat didn't stand a chance. This little adventure of theirs gave him ample practice when it came to you, the real Tav. As subtle as the differences were, there were too many to deem coincidence: forgetting personal details of their companions, their magic suddenly "disappearing," their martial skills lacking, not to mention the scent of their blood changing as well. It only took a few nights before he approached Halsin about the matter. Surely the druid knew something useful of shapechangers. And that he did. He also agreed with Astarion that if they were to interrogate the imposter, they had to maintain secrecy.

After a few more days of trekking through the woods and nights spent scheming, the party had chosen a spot to make camp for the night. Tav was quick to pitching their tent, a rather new habit. They approach the group. Their stance is steady and alert where everyone else has begun to relax.

"It's Wyll's night to hunt, but I hope no one minds if I volunteer. Gives me extra martial practice."

Everyone nods in agreement allowing them to disappear into the unfamiliar wood. Astarion catches Halsin's gaze from across the camp, both men ready to finally make a move. Astarion stalks into the forest after his quarry, trailing them from a distance. Halsin moves towards the party gathered around the fire, waiting until he's confident "Tav" was out of earshot.

The change in Tav's demeanor was almost instantaneous - not more than 20 feet away from camp did their posture shift and their face relax into something more rancorous. They looked back cautiously at camp before briskly walking into the unfamiliar wood. Well, unfamiliar to the party, that is. Whoever, and whatever this being is, they navigate with certainty. Astarion almost has trouble keeping up in the dense wood, but his sharp senses wouldn't make it easy for the imposter to evade him.