BG3 Confessions: Lines I’ll Never Cross, Even After 1,000 Hours

It’s 2026, and Baldur’s Gate 3 is still my top-played game on Steam — 1,043 hours and counting. I’ve romanced a vampire, a wizard, a githyanki, and even a bear (blame the wild magic). I’ve been a hero, a villain, a bard who solved every dispute with a lute solo. Yet through all these runs, there are a handful of choices that I will never, ever make. They’re the kind of decisions that make even the most depraved Dark Urge player clutch their pearls. Let’s talk about the unbreakable vows of a seasoned Faerûn junkie.

The Tadpole Tango? No Thanks 🧠

Convincing my companions to snarf down Illithid tadpoles feels like convincing my cat to take a bath — theoretically possible, but morally horrific. I get it: bonus powers are juicy, and flying across the battlefield is fun. But the cost? Gale sprouts tentacles, Lae’zel’s fiery eyes turn squiddy, and Karlach’s engine pulses purple. No. My party is my found family, and I won’t turn them into brain-slurping horrors. Lae’zel once told me she’d rather die than embrace illithid powers, and I believe her. So I’ll keep those wiggly parasites chillin’ in my inventory, right next to 200 unused scrolls.

The Githyanki Egg That Haunts Me 🥚

Early on, you meet a desperate githyanki named Lady Esther who wants you to steal an egg from the creche. I did it once — ONCE — and felt so dirty I immediately reloaded. Handing that precious egg over to the “Society of Brilliance” for their weird experiments is like mailing your neighbor’s baby to a sketchy daycare. The egg deserves a future, not a dissection. Now I always leave it in the creche, safe with its people. Or I’ll headcanon that my Tav hatched it and now raises a sassy gith child who corrects Lae’zel’s pronunciation. Way better.

Gale’s Noble Sacrifice? Absolutely Not ✨

Gale’s entire arc is a masterclass in trust and self-worth, and I refuse to let him believe his only value is as a magical suicide bomb. Yes, Mystra commands him to blow himself up to stop the Netherbrain. Yes, it’s a tragically poetic ending. But I’ll never give him that order. Gale deserves a chance to live, to cook, to read cat poetry by the fireplace. I’ll fight the Elder Brain with sticks and harsh language before I tell my favorite wizard “go on, pull the pin.” Even on my evil runs… wait, I don’t really do evil runs. See the pattern?

Mayrina’s Fate: It’s Personal 👒

Eerily early in the game, you encounter a weeping widow in the hag’s swamp. Mayrina is naive, pregnant, and a bit annoying — but abandoning her to Ethel’s clutches? Cold. I don’t care how many times I replay; I always rescue her, even if I have to savescum the hag’s stupid illusion puzzles. Sure, Mayrina can be ungrateful, but she’s a survivor. On my latest playthrough, I even helped her form a hag-hunting support group. Nothing says “girl boss” like channeling grief into swamp justice.

Wulbren Bongle Must Never Survive 🔨

Now we’re talking. The gnome with the explosive personality and zero gratitude — Wulbren Bongle — tops my “permanently red-lit” list. He insults my low-intellect tiefling boyfriend (Rolan, love you), disrespects Barcus, and acts like a grumpy squirrel the entire time. In every single run, I meticulously plan his demise: a well-placed thunderwave off a cliff, a “misclicked” fireball during the Iron Throne escape, or simply leaving him to rot in Moonrise. The subreddit once shared strategies on how to kill him without aggroing allies, and I’ve memorized them all. Seeing his little gnome corpse brings me a peace no other side quest can.

Emperor Romance? Let’s Keep It Professional 🦑

I’ve seen the cutscene. I know the tentacles do … things. I also know the Emperor is a manipulative, gaslighting cephalopod with a serious case of main-character syndrome. The moment you learn how he mentally puppeted Stelmane, any hint of romance curdles into existential dread. I’ll ally with him for the final fight because turning into a mind flayer is also on my never-do list. But dating him? Nah. My dream guardian can look like a supermodel, but underneath that golden armor is just a pile of red flags wrapped in squid.

So What’s the Point? 🎮

For all its branching paths, Baldur’s Gate 3 becomes a mirror. Your “never again” lines show who you really are: a protector, a rebel, or just someone who really hates gnome terrorism. Even three years later, I discover new dialogue if I dare to veer off my moral compass. But some choices? They stay grayed out. Not because I can’t click them, but because my heart won’t let me. So here’s to the unbroken vows, the reloaded saves, and the companions who feel like real people. May your tadpole count always be zero, and may Wulbren never see the light of day.