Baldur's Gate 3 Oneshots & Short Stories

When Magic Won't Work

Requested by The_Tezzinator: Tav has been fighting with a violent urge that lives in their body. They asked the resident wizard to help them find a solution. When He's unable to help, Tav begins to spiral.

Content warnings: Mental health spiral, descriptions of violence

Act 1, noncanonical - Spoilers about the Durge and about Gale

Word count: 1,428

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Fighting cultists is magnitudes harder when you've been battling your own mind all day.

The day ends much the same as they all have ended recently. You trudge towards Gale at his desk, delivering him his portion of dinner and some additional special treats. There's not much to spare out in the wilds: you've come across some decent wines along the roads and have bought some deliciously fresh fruits from the druids. It's not much repayment considering the hours Gale has been spending on research for you. Along with delicacies, tomes and spell books are another sparce resource you've been hoarding like a chipmunk nearing winter. Anything that even contains the words "curse" and "possession" are immediately stashed away to be brought to the wizard. Such tomes have been strewn about, bookmarked, annotated, and sorted across the desk. You carefully clear a spot for his plate of food and curl up on your designated chair beside him, cradling a steaming mug. He finally releases a large breath and leans back in his seat, practically deflating. You feel discouraged by the gesture, to say the least.

"Dare I even ask how the research is faring?" You gently prompt. Gale shakes his head before meeting you with an apologetic look. His gaze moves down, getting distracted by the warm beverage in your mug. The scent makes it quite easy to identify as coffee, despite the moon being out. 

"Again?" He probes.

You simply shrug. It's a rather unhealthy habit you've developed in a shallow attempt to prevent any more midnight murders. The sleep deprivation has been nothing compared to the anxiety, however. The looming fear that you are but a cage containing a much greater, merciless beast. Gale begins prodding at the food before him like a dissatisfied child, clearly still lost in the problem presented before the two of you.

"I don't understand. Remove curse spells have no effect, and there's no magical aura of possession around you. Magic is more than capable of compulsion, but to have no memory of it? And in your sleep?" He shakes his head. "If I didn't know you well enough, I'd say this was all some elaborate rues. Perhaps you're a well known mass-murderer we have the pleasure of escorting" 

His tone is clearly joking, but part of your heart sinks. The thought had indeed crossed your mind. Alfira's body still haunts the inside of your eyelids. Some sick, dark corner of your heart smiles at the thought of her corpse. Beyond your amnesia, what if this is the true you? What if your past is colored with nothing but blood? What if you enjoyed it? You shudder in disgust at your own mind, finally replying to Gale.

"Can it be anything else?" It's equal parts a question and a plea.

Please, let it be anything else. Let it be anything but my own poisoned self.

Gale adopts a comforting if not pitying tone. "It must be, but I'm truthfully not sure what. We need to learn more about this 'curse,'" he concludes.

"Well, I might be able to help with that." Your heart grips in your chest. You retrieve a simple leather bound journal from your tent. You picked it up along your travels, clearly used and mildly damaged, but it serves it's purpose to you now. Your hands go cold, your grip on the private book automatically growing tighter. "All I ask is that you don't judge me too harshly for this. I feel disgusting every time I look at these pages, and worse each time I add to them. But, it's all I can do right now. Please." Your gaze is downcast as you speak, but you can still feel the worry emanating from Gale. Still, his words manage to reassure you.

"I will not base your character on something that isn't your fault, I swear it."

You almost believe him. It take all your strength to will your hands into surrendering the journal. Gale gingerly opens it to the first page, the realization of it's content hitting him like a blizzard. It's been the private home to your urges so they don't have to live inside your head. His eyes grow wide, his eyebrows crease, and his mouth drops slightly agape.

"By the gods..."

The words escape him like a breath. The first few pages are coherent. Short and academic observations of this urge. By the fourth or fifth page, it spirals beyond even your own comprehension. Scenes of murder described like poetry, entire paragraphs dedicated to viscera. Obsessed drawings of bones and gore and the violent scenes that could birth them. Scribbles so violent Gale could hear your screams of desperation, begging to escape your own mind. Save for one stray bard and unusual symptoms, Tav has concealed their ailment the way a singer composes a sonnet; by capturing it within pages. By the time Gale finally tears his eyes away from the journal, you've sunk miles into your own self. You may as well be at the bottom of the sea, observing the surface with what little light reaches you. It startles you to feel a warm, solid hand on your shoulder. Your yanked back to the surface - to reality by your companions large sad eyes. His mouth opens, yet for the first time since meeting him, no words come out. It takes an uncomfortable amount of time for the wizard to find something to say.

"I'm sorry."

You were hoping for more. You had hoped for some unnecessarily long monologue about how you'll be okay and overcome this evil. About how this is some poison running through your veins that he can extract from you, purifying you. Your in horrors have rendered a man of a thousand words to two. I'm sorry. There's nothing you can do with that, except continue to hate your blackened heart. Your hand rises to his and slowly removes it from your shoulder. Wordlessly, you stand, and trudge into the surrounding woods. You have no sense of destination, just the tired need to get away. When you finally check back in with yourself you're in a clearing. You don't know how far you walked or for how long, but every part of you aches with unending sadness. You sit down where you stand and lie down on your back. The stars blink at you kindly and the sky blankets you in a blanket of midnight blue. 

I'm too vile to deserve such beauty.

Your eyes trace each star, connecting them together. You feel too much anxiety and depression to sleep, so instead you lie there awake. It must've been at least an hour when the silence is broken by gently footsteps along the grass. A figure settles on the ground beside you, joining you in your prone position. The scent of old tomes and firewood betray Gale's presence to you, but you don't have the energy to greet him. Fighting with your own mind has left you utterly exhausted. His voice is soft and soothing when it paints the air in between you.

"Tav, I understand your desperation," he begins softly, placing a hand over the purple mark on his chest. "Truly, I do. To feel such a darkness clawing its way out. Trying desperately to seal it inside yourself, away from anyone who could get hurt. All the while, it's still tearing down your walls." Your eyes meet. His hold no pity and no fear. They hold empathy and kindness. "I can't say I don't deserve my affliction, but you certainly don't deserve yours. You're too kind, too selfless, too generous to be tethered to such a despicable yearning. I know that yearning is not your, though, not truly." Your eyes sting as tears being to well. "I may be at a loss of magical solutions for once, but whatever else I can do to aid you. Just say the word."

The grip on your heart is impossibly tight. Even after revealing the deepest, darkest, most horrid thoughts a mortal could have, he's still by your side. Alone, at night, in the middle of nowhere. He trusts you. The realization that he means every word he says is enough to cause the tears to spill over your cheeks. Your eyes are tired and sad when they meet his once more. Your voice quiet as not to disturb the beauty of night.

"Can you stay with me for a bit longer?" He smiles, his eyes bright with hope for the first time since beginning the research into your urge.

"Certainly."