Baldur’s Gate 3’s first act is a Tav graveyard — here’s how I finally conquered act one syndrome | Daily Reports Online
There are many audacious and commendable feats in gaming. Taking down Consort Radahn, platforming through the Path of Pain, filling your entire Pokedex, to name but a few. However, despite personally doing all these things, one task chewed me up and spat me out repeatedly. One that, on paper, isn’t all that tough at all.
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The task: To get through Act One of the mammoth CRPG, Baldur’s Gate 3 (BG3).
The ‘act one syndrome’ brought on by the sheer volume of content and the steep learning curve of BG3 is something that just about everyone has endured at some point when exploring Faerûn.
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However, I feel I have been wearing this albatross around my neck for quite some time. While watching others take second laps around Faerûn for a Dark Urge run, unburdened by this plight of mine.
BG3 has been the loud, obnoxious gnawing at the back of my mind. The bane of my backlog, and at some point, I snapped.
Operation: get act one done
On paper, it’s far from a Herculean task. After all, if you really want to, you can hop off the Nautiloid and head straight for the Githyanki Crèche if you choose. But ignoring the slew of content and the abundant, overlapping ‘what ifs’ is just too tall a task for a completionist such as myself.
I’ve gone back to the BG3 well a grand total of seven times. Each time, I fell at the first-act hurdle, but for different reasons.
At first, it was simply overzealous confidence and ineptitude. There was an underlying issue in that my understanding of Dungeons & Dragons principles was severely lacking.
As a result, there were many hour-long battles that inevitably led to a full party KO and a painful restart. Poor decisions compounded with each new dialogue exchange. This culminated in a heated exchange with a deceptively powerful frog, and the first of many save files to be abandoned. RIP Ignacius, my first Tav to fall.
Then came the attempts to right that wrong. A YouTube brush-up on DND systems here and there, a few tweaks to the starting build, and it would all surely work out fine.
It did not.
There was an inevitable and foolish overcorrection, a choice to play a build that simply wasn’t fun to use, especially for a novice like myself. Monks sound great on paper, as you can let your fists solve all problems. Until you’re starved for Ki and left helpless. So, with that, another save file bit the bullet. RIP Falconhoof.
You would think at this point, with so much Baldur’s Gate 3 act one experience behind me, success was all but guaranteed. But then, like a pesky Kobold leering from the shadows, a menacing creature I call my wife said, in hushed tones, ‘That looks fun; will you show me how to play?’ Thus beginning a co-op campaign led by a D&D novice, acting as a sage for an even bigger novice.
Safe to say, this blind leading the blind dynamic was about as successful as Lae’zel would be headlining at the Comedy Cellar. So, we dug a twin grave for my wife’s Tav and poor, unfortunate Arcane Michael.
It was these constant setbacks that set the wheels in motion for even more attempts to go awry. Because the dynamic shifted from a state of wonderment and curiosity to an attritional, transactional slog, as scenarios, battles, and pivotal choices repeated again and again, lacking the weight they once had.
Much like Tav, I too was infected with a parasite acting as a ticking time bomb. At some point, the tedium, or the ennui, would set in, and I would succumb to that parasite’s mind control. Forcing me to exit the game, uninstall it, and relegate BG3 to the back of the backlog again.
Mercifully, this affliction doesn’t come part and parcel with a tadpole insertion through the eye socket, but it’s unpleasant nonetheless.
Finding my Faerûn flow state
Returning for my eighth crack, things had to be different. So, I put those wheels in motion. I cooled off for an entire year, forgetting large portions of the opening act in the process. I researched the most fun, accessible build to play relative to the most recent patch. I even passed on some hot and fresh releases, devoting all my time and energy to breaking through.
But above all, I knew that if this was ever going to work, I would need to learn how to let go. To let decisions shape the experience rather than relying on save-scumming, embrace the rough and the smooth in equal measure, and find the mental fortitude to push on towards new and exciting things.
As someone who wants to see everything a game has to offer, ponder over every decision, min-max at every opportunity, and somehow manage to accurately roleplay while juggling all of this. I was still skeptical that it would all click into place. But against all odds, in honor of my newborn son, my Halfling Rogue, Lorcàn, was born, and before long, I could see the Shadow-Cursed Lands on the horizon.
With a streamlined build that allowed me to rely on Luck, overpowered stealth, and flexibility to multiclass. No combat encounter felt like an insurmountable task, and no conversation felt like an inevitable road to a failed dice roll. My half-pint Halfling fittingly gave me the glass-half-full mindset I needed.
Minthara and her goblins were vanquished: shoved down a chasm to their doom. The party shone a light on the Underdark’s mysteries. I left that demonic frog to their own devices. But above all, the insurmountable pressure to finally leave Act One had dissipated and this is an accolade I place in my personal trophy cabinet of gaming feats.
The city of Baldur’s Gate awaits, and finally, I feel that curiosity and magic again.
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