Chapter Text
Long and pointy gazelle-like horns sit uncomfortably on top of their heads. Inhuman skin of an unnatural blue-ish tone, strange pointy ears, long and sharp delicate nails, a tail with a mind of its own that just doesn't stay put. A colourful jester-like outfit, a more feminine face, a softer voice, longer purple-ish hair, and finally, bright infernal orange eyes that stare back in the reflection.
These are only the physical aspects that they find themselves in with this recently new form as the mirror echoes the figure standing in front of it. A sharp glare towards themselves, mentally willing for the image to change, a starring battle that lasts until they feel their eyes dry against the object, refusing to give in to the gritty feeling turning burning until they can no longer hold it and are forced to blink back moisture, behind teary eyes, the mirror unfortunately does not reflect their once human appearance lost a few days ago.
It’s been almost a week since they find themselves in Faerun instead of Toronto, unwillingly in the body of the poor tiefling bard, Alfira. Waking to wilderness and nature, trees, mountains and rivers surrounding the druid grove instead of giant buildings that reach the sky, bustling noise of cars, fire trucks or police sirens and never ending construction of a busy city. No longer near their own plush and warm bed after playing Baldur’s Gate 3 until the sun started to rise. They wonder with dread what happened to her, where she ended up if they were hosting their body, did she just straight up disappear out of existence, swap in their place instead and found themselves in the empty apartment, or was pushed in the back of this body, now forced to share with a stranger. They try not to linger on that thought too much, less they will go even more insane then at the moment. Almost a week as they were forced to adjust to the aspect of inhuman races, monstrous creatures, magic, and life threatening danger accompanied with bloodshed, so much blood, so much gore, so many corpses. Saying the first few days after finding themselves in this new world would be rough was an understatement, it was catastrophic. Thinking only one strange and very vivid dream quickly turned into a nightmare as the reality of their situation hit them harder than any trucks at full speed could, they could not survive in this world. With only a lute and a few tunes up their sleeves, an innocent and frail figure, their chance of surviving the universe of Baldur’s Gate was lesser then 0 if they did not adjust immediately.
The fear of death and morality has always crept in their mind, even at a young age, the inevitable end of all life. Who knows what was waiting on the other side once you were gone, of course, there was the aspect of heaven and hell for the believers who wish to see mortality in a brighter light, but they were never the religious type, refusing to believe there was something for the soul instead of a cold tomb underground and then nothing. They knew the worst thing that could happen was nothingness.
They had to survive, suck up whatever feeling of dread and discomfort, lock it in the deepest part of their mind and forever close that drawer and roll with whatever, atrocities they witnessed be dammed and focus, that’s the only way they will even have a 0.01% chance of maybe not ending up on the cold floor bleeding out and their guts spilled. Their previous therapist would absolutely tell them how unhealthy of a coping mechanism this was and then proceeds to recite a long lecture about mental exhaustion and strain on the individual, but not after charging them around $300 later. But they didn’t know of any other way, and will not risk another method when it’s previously worked for them so far. Rationality taking the frontlines, they knew they absolutely weren’t a fighter and would die immediately if they were to even try picking up any weapons. Taking up the host of a bard, their body still remembers how to play a few tunes and they can at least inspire and use some limited weaker spells, something they discovered during their early experimentation days. Having knowledge on the game’s mechanics, with 500 hours of playtime invested in the game since it first came out, and the basics of Dungeon and Dragons, their knowledge is the only way to gain some kind of upper hand and raise their chance of survival. And with that knowledge comes a few opportunities, opportunities to stay breathing if they play their cards right. The tadpole gang.
Following the original story line, if they followed the path of the tieflings, they would be in immediate danger through the shadow cursed lands. Of course they would survive somehow, unless this world’s Tav follows the background of the Dark Urge, but it is still an event they wish to avoid at all cost, knowing the horrors Alfira witnesses in her dialogue would absolutely break them mentally, well even more than at the moment, and it’s on thin ice at the moment but let’s ignore that for now.
If they can somehow convince the main cast’s party to let them follow them through their adventure, offering some help and guidance, who knows even a few bardic inspiration here and there, then surely their chance of living would be better. They just need to be lucky enough that their leader is not of the Bhaal spawn origin. Heck they could just stay at camp like the old skeleton Withers, become an unimportant NPC that stays at camp and is somewhat helpful every now and there while they venture and take care of the rest. They could even help the origin characters with their personal problems and help them reach their happy endings on the sidelines, then they would be grateful enough to help them with their own predicament after, well, Lae’zel or Astarion will certainly be challenging, but Wyll and Karlach would be easier. They know it’s somewhat manipulative, but they needed that help. After all, it worked for the tragic vampiric elf. They may even find an answer of what’s happened to them and their circumstances. Withers should surely have info seeing as they are in fact Jergal. All best outcomes and benefits mentally configured to the party, the main focus of the game, and with that, a mental list is made, convince the party to let me follow them, help them and receive help and protection in return, find out more of my predicament, and return home. Surviving in bold and written in bright red at the top of everything.
A few more harsh days at the grove passes, wearing the skin of the sweet bard, idly chatting with other, ignoring the guilt of forced identity theft and deception towards all of Alfira’s tiefling friends, especially Lakrissa, sleeping on the uncomfortable ground that they will need to get used to. Witnessing the tension and fight between the tiefling and the druid, poor Zevlor they thoughtlessly ponder, and the tyranny of Kagha. Sure they could have done something with their knowledge to stop a few events at the grove from happening, like that poor tiefling in the shed paralysed due to a false potion, that one druid underneath a secret passages being attacked by gnomes, or Arabella being taken to Kagha after trying to steal the idol, but as cruel as it can be, they can’t and won’t risk changing an event that will later benefit the upcoming group. Also who knows what would happen and what would change if they were the ones to intervene instead, they need everything to be predictable if they want to live after all, they force that small ping of guilt back down. Finally, they hear whispers between citizens about an odd group of adventurers defeating goblins at the entrance of the grove. It was finally time to set their plan in motion. First and foremost, they knew they needed to prove themselves that they could be useful in other ways than combat.
Making their way towards the entrance, with half a baked plan in mind to warn them about Auntie Ethel residing at the grove to demonstrate some keen observation skills, starting slow as to not seem desperate, they see from a distance the purple robed wizard, the dark haired cleric looking around curiously at the grove, and a large white dragonborn wearing the robes of a sorcerer. Hellfire red eyes meet orange and they are suddenly frozen at the sight of him. Shit. Okay, Okay, maybe it’s not that bad, it could still be a normal Tav that just so happens to look like the default dark urge, best not to jump to immediate conclusion without evidence, after all that usually leads to 40% of mistakes.
“Did you really have to kick that squirrel!? You ruined a perfectly good snack” a dramatic voice is heard from behind.
Fuck.