I’m trying to be a good person in Baldur’s Gate 3. My sense of ‘good’ may not be the same as yours, mind. I’ve got no qualms about killing people if they annoy me or refusing aid to someone who wronged me in the past. I hold a grudge, but I try to do what’s best for the people who need it. Or at least for the hot people.

I’m still in Act 1 of Baldur’s Gate 3 at the moment, but I feel like I’ve already made a thousand crucially important decisions and am starting to wonder if the devs were correct when they said there were 17,000 possible endings to the game. I was all ready to fight a she-devil with a poor group holed up in a gatehouse, until I realised she was the victim in the situation. So I saved Karlach, popped her in my party, and decapitated those who wished her ill. Then I let her set fire to their bodies and all their things. This is the kind of ‘good’ character I am in Baldur’s Gate 3. I believe in justice, my own correct opinions, and excessive violence. But I also want an Owlbear.

Related:

I was alerted to the creature’s presence by a band of adventurers dying in the middle of the road. I persuaded them to let me join them on a trip to the creature’s cave, but my secret plan was to abandon them to their fate and invite the Owlbear to be my best friend for life. How wrong I was.

For the first and last time in my playthrough, I used my otherwise useless Animal Handling skills to assess the situation. The Owlbear’s body language told me in no uncertain terms to get out, which I did not do. I knew drawing closer would incite the beast to attack, but I wanted to pet it or its adorable little cub, and I wasn’t leaving without one or the other.

It reared its beak and slashed with its vicious claws. I stoically did not reciprocate, showing it that I meant no harm, but my newfound allies were different. While Astarion was sneaking around to steal the Owlbear egg, I aimed my bows and blades at the humans in the cave, rather than the Owlbears.

Eventually, though, I was left with no option. The human attackers were dead, and yet the Owlbear would not relent. Even its poor cub was trying to get in on the action despite my hesitance to harm it. So I killed the Owlbear, in pure self-defence. Sure, I invaded its home and tried to steal its children, but it attacked first. Still, I felt terrible. I’ve killed countless Goblins and Humans already, but this is the first time I’d felt bad about a death by my own hand.

The worst was yet to come. The baby Owlbear crawled over, grieving, and started eating its mother. One of my party members – I don’t remember which one, I was too distraught, but it was probably Lae’zel right? – suggested I put it out of its misery and I acquiesced. The poor cub looked distraught, this was the least I could do. And I had the egg, to hatch this poor baby’s sibling and show it the love and affection the orphans deserved. I was a monster, but I would make it right.

It turns out the egg is useless. I can’t hatch it, no matter how warm I keep it by incubating it in Karlach’s fiery pockets, and the only eventual use for it is to trick a Githyanki later on. In my usual post-mission guide check, I found that the only way to get a little Owlbear cub companion is to let it consume its mother and then meet it at the Goblin Camp. Of course.

Now I’m in a pickle. Not only am I riddled with guilt, I don’t have an Owlbear cub to cuddle up to and make it all better. I killed them for nothing, and have forfeited the life of an unborn cub in the stolen egg for good measure. Baldur’s Gate 3 always makes you feel like your decisions matter, but this is the first time it’s made me really feel like a monster. There’s plenty of time still to come, though.

Next: The Terry Pratchett Estate Is Right To Turn Down Subpar Adaptations