The following contains mild spoilers for Baldur’s Gate 3.
When Baldur’s Gate 3 released on Xbox, and it was finally my turn to experience its greatness, I had already spent some time creating my ideal Tav. I knew she had to be as perfect as I could make her to immerse myself fully in the dangers of the Sword Coast. As a seasoned Dungeons & Dragons and life-sim player, I had crafted her story, her abilities, her class, her subclass, and even what I wanted her to look like. I wanted her to be able to stand tall as a party leader, hold her own in battle, and rely on her companions to fill in the gaps where she fell short. She was meant to be the glue holding the party together: balanced, intentional, and irreplaceable.
What I didn’t anticipate was that Baldur’s Gate 3 could make her feel unnecessary. Suddenly, all the planning that went into building her seemed overshadowed by someone else in the camp. The overlap was too sharp, the abilities too similar, and in a game where every party slot matters, the sting of redundancy was impossible to ignore. Regret might be too strong a word for it, but the frustration of seeing my carefully chosen role eclipsed never really faded.
When I recruited Baldur’s Gate 3‘s Gale, I was immediately charmed by his mannerisms, cadence of speech, and his wizardly composure. When my Tav pulled him from the waypoint, he said he felt a twinkle in our touch that united us as manipulators of the Weave. Therefore, I was really excited to have two Wizards in my party: one I had lovingly crafted, and the other I would learn all about.
I’ve been playing Dungeons & Dragons since 2019. I’ve shared every idea I’ve had, whether good or bad, with my DM to see if it fits the campaign they’re about to run. But over the years, I’ve noticed that my DMs have always steered me away from building a character too similar to others. If there are too many mages in our group, they’ve asked if I’m willing to play a tank instead.
If my character’s backstory had similar elements to others before our session zero, they’d send me back to the drawing board. And even though I’ve never been a Dungeon Master, I now understand why they ask me to do these things. These requests suddenly made sense when I compared Gale and Tavla.
Gale came with a fully realized backstory. Chosen of a goddess, a brilliant wizard, a tragic victim of his own hubris, and now burdened with the impossible weight of a Netherese Orb in his chest. He had stakes, desires, and consequences that felt larger than life. Meanwhile, my Tavla was the opposite: a blank slate for me to project onto. Any “backstory” I’d written for her was really just scaffolding for roleplay, a way to help me decide which dialogue options she’d pick in tense moments.
If Gale was a novel already written, Tavla was the journal where I was still scribbling down ideas. But they were at least my own. And this is where the troubles started.
Given how much I cared about the Wizard, to the point of even considering a romantic connection with Baldur’s Gate 3‘s Gale, I wanted to bring him along. But the practical reality hit fast. Every battle felt like deja vu: double spellcasters, double glass cannons, double people jockeying for the same role in a tight party. My meticulously built necromancer Tavla, the blank heroine of my story, suddenly felt diminished.
Gale wasn’t a bad character by any means. Still, in combat, he started to feel like my Tav’s shadow: another arcane powerhouse, but without the careful intentionality I had tied to her build. His spells felt haphazard compared to hers, and while I adored his story, I found myself prioritizing my own creation over optimizing Gale’s build. The sting of redundancy cut deep, and slowly, Gale became the companion I only brought along when the plot forced me to, which is a shame for both of us.
The Gale situation wasn’t an isolated case, either. When Jaheira showed up in Act 2, I thought she’d just be a fantastic cameo. I thought she’d be an Easter egg in BG3 for longtime Baldur’s Gate fans and a temporary ally in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. But she was fully recruitable, and suddenly, my party dynamic faced the same problem all over again because of Halsin’s presence. In theory, the abundance of choice should have been a blessing. In practice, it meant I had to keep sidelining characters I loved for the sake of efficiency. And the guilt of leaving them at camp never really went away.
I’ve played Baldur’s Gate 3 for 392 hours. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this game or its characters. But if I’m going to move forward, I need to make sure that my party rotation is more like a brilliantly shuffled playlist, and not just a listening session full of skips. Because, genuinely, all recruitable campmates in Baldur’s Gate 3 deserve a time to shine. And if you have a camp companion you regretted recruiting, I hope that these recommendations allow you to give them another shot:
At the end of the day, regret might be too strong a word for a game that thrives on experimentation. So here’s to the next 392 hours: a fresh playlist, fewer skipped tracks, and maybe even the chance to finally give Gale his rightful moment in the spotlight.
9/10
August 3, 2023
M for Mature: Blood and Gore, Partial Nudity, Sexual Content, Strong Language, Violence
