Larian Studios Forums Baldur's Gate III Baldur's Gate III - General DnD Fan Fiction: The Mad Little God

Parody/satire. Some minor ‘rude’ bits: they’re covered in spoiler tags ‘just in case’, but are tamer than anything you’ll read in BG3 itself. Cuss words not censored, because they never are here. It features a ‘moderator’: the word is just a word, it’s not exclusive to online forums, and even if it was, a story is a story. Sad times that we have to ‘cover ourselves’ even when having a bit of a laugh with fiction, but it is 2022. There was a part 1 to this. Briefly: the MC Glack is a sleazy loner who is abusive to his dog, who eventually runs away after he gets into a fight with a wizard named Guille and a rogue named Handa. This picks up after the fight. Hopefully it lightens the mood a bit…

***


There was Glack, Cyllth and Handa sitting around Glack’s hovel, looking quite glum after the non-event that was their skirmish outside. Glack had forgotton to memorise his most post potent druidic spells. When he’d engaged the scrawny wizard, Cyllth, and his dense accomplice, Handa the supposed rogue, he’d only goodberry in his spellbook. Luckily Cyllth had only memorised identify. That left Handa with the sole weapon of note: his -5 knife, which was apparently the only blade in existence that was less deadly than a butter knife.

“Eh, why, yes…it’s truly a fool’s game, this infighting and loathing – where is the honour in it, I ask?” said Glack grandly, hoping to restore their allegiance.

“Cringe!” said Handa, jabbing his finger at Glack and jumping about, the drool flowing from his snarling mouth. “Cringe!”

Ah, there we go, thought Glack: Handa’s favourite little word. He’d wondered when Handa would blurt it out – he had, after all, attempted to converse with him as a sane adult.

Alas, Glack needed Handa, as much as he needed Cyllth. It had been an amateurish lapse in decorum that lead him to mock them: it hadn’t even gained him any favour with his beloved Wa’Mayda and Gween, before the ladies fled the scene of the fight.

Time for damage control, thought Glack. At least he knew Handa would be easy game.

“Lord Handa!” said Glack. “You of all people must know my pain in losing my best friend, my dog – after all, the scar must still be fresh upon your heart, having only recently lost your own dear cat.”

“Cringe!” said Handa, dancing up and down.

Glack laughed that practiced, good-natured laugh of his.

“I’ve always said you’re a colourful character, Handa,” said Glack. “Never change, and please forgive me my lack of tact in referring to you as sickly in front of the girls. The shame will last me an eternity.”

“Cringe, cringe!” said Handa, with such force that he unleashed a small wave of saliva upon Glack’s robes.

Glack brushed off the spit, smiling as one who had merely been the victim of a bold child.

“I implore you to tell me again the tale of your cat’s heart-wrenching demise,” said Glack. “I cannot hear it enough times, for on each retelling of it I learn something new about myself and my best friend, my dog.”

It now occurred to Glack that he must someday name the dog, if – when – he got him back. Wa’Mayda and Gween adored the dog, after all, and Glack felt the canine was a critical ingredient in wooing the ladies. He had to get that cursed animal back. But first things first: healing the injured egos of his precious guests.

“And you Cyllth!” said Glack. “Can you ever forgive me my tasteless slander of Handa? We were always such good allies, and who knows when that bastard Nac’Nowd will return to this realm and require our combined wit to repel him once more?”

Cyllth was expressionless as he regarded Glack, his hands unmoving where they lay upon his colourless robes.

The sweat dribbled down Glack’s brow. The Nac’Nowd namedrop was certainly a gamble, he thought, despite their shared loathing of the wayward genius.

It seemed now as though Handa moved in slow motion, his “cringe” accusations drawn-out, almost incomprehensible as Glack awaited Cyllth’s reply. What felt like minutes passed – as did something else, deep within Glack’s bowels: shooting through them with a thunderous squelching momentum.

“What is that stench?” said Cyllth, barely flinching.

“He shit!” said Handa, gagging as his eyes filled with water. “He shit, he shit!”

“You defecate before us?” said Cyllth, neutrally. “This is the level we’re at now, is it?”

“It’s the marsh outside,” said Glack. “You must know it has its moments of extraordinary rankness.”

“Let’s say I believe you,” said Cyllth. “Why should I or Handa ally with you again, after your shameless two-facedness in antagonising us?”

“Why should you not?” said Glack. “Any day now Nac’Nowd may return from his banishment and bring with him his insults and cretinism. Have you ever known the fiend to be civil? And what of his gibes that polite men are but friend-zoned cucks? Can you stand against such a devil all by yourself?”

Cyllth scratched his chin and appeared to ponder the remark – then to Glack’s great relief, he spontaneously reversed his previous reservations. Sometimes, Glack felt, it seemed that wild magic had rooted itself, in all its bonkers randomness, within Cyllth’s very mind.

“I agree,” said Cyllth. “Let’s ally immediately.”

“Yes,” said Glack, extending a shaky hand in an offer of truce.

What a fucking fruitcake, thought Glack. Would he flip again? More to the point, did he have the wit to cast clairvoyance after years of forgetting to write third level spells into his spellbook? Played right, that spell could be the difference between finding Gween and Wa’Mayda’s favourite dog and being forever alone in this wretched hut.

“We need to talk,” said Glack, urging Guile to follow him away from an increasingly volatile Handa.

The next day, Cyllth began casting clairvoyance in the most significant areas around Glack’s home of Risslewurst. In fact, there was only one significant location in the putrid marsh that was Glack’s home: the Ruins of Jojo’nono, widely known for their derivative puzzle areas that endured for hours, only to conclude with a pot that had, if one was lucky, two to three wooden arrows and occasionally a rarity known as a ‘common cloth’.

Jojo’nono was also home to a rumoured mental spectator, who made other spectators look like the epitome of sanity by comparison.

Glack had never met this supposed Legand of Jojo’nono, and he’d many times attempted to raid the ruin’s pots with Wa’Mayda and Gween.

“I believe we have ourselves what could be referred to as a winner,” said Cyllth, speaking as though he’d just extracted a sock from some lukewarm water.

“The dog fled to Jojo’nono?” said Glack, not especially surprised.

“Is there anywhere else around here to which one could flee?” said Cyllth, stiltedly chortling. “It’s a curious scene in which the dog presents himself… The hound has, perhaps, gone mad. I see him near a ruin-encrusted door, mumbling to the thing as though it were a person.”

“Bah,” said Glack. “He’s a damned dog. What is their wit compared to apex beings such as me – and, eh, you. And Handa! Of course…”

“Whatever the answer,” said Cyllth, “we must be cautious about venturing towards Jojo’nono. Handa and I witnessed a sizable force of goblins entering the area the other day. And no ordinary goblins either: among their number, I counted Tinbutt, Dull’Brainy, Cronen Lamer, Caldain and even Hac’Har’yebe.”

The biggest morons in all of goblinhood, thought Glack: he knew them well. Were these homogenous losers actually approaching Jojo’nono? Then again, it did make sense. Only the dimmest of the dim would think Jojo’nono had anything going for it.

Plankton as they were, though, they were dangerous in numbers. They relied on group-rape of their opponents over intelligence. It was, Glack had to concede, an effective strategy if the dunces had enough numbers in their favour.

“All right,” said Glack. “Fireball up, and let’s move out. If we play our cards right, you can one-shot Tinbutt and co. Otherwise, we may have to send in Handa – for his skills of course. Thank you, Handa, for allying with lesser adventurers such as Cyllth and myself. Only Drizzt Do'Urden himself could replace one such as you as a comrade!”

“Cringe!” said Handa, clasping his head in his hands and sticking out his tongue, over and over. “Cringe, you cringe!”

Glack smiled his very best smile.

“Onwards, gentlemen!” said Glack. “To Jojo’nono we go!”

***

Handa had already tripped half a dozen traps before the party even reached Jojo’nono’s perimeter, and now an explosive barrel had detonated unremarkably nearby.
Handa howled to the heavens like one possessed.

“What the fuck is wrong with him now?” said Glack. “None of these stupid traps cause anything more obnoxious than the equivalent of a nettle sting!”

“I don’t believe physical pain is what anguishes him,” said Cyllth rather cryptically, and would say no more on the topic.

“Everywhere, they’re everywhere!” Handa kept shrieking for the next hour. “Stupid! Stupid!”

When at last Handa returned to his senses, if that was the word, the party moved on towards the gateway of Jojo’nono.

The filthy mind of the amateur who constructed the gateway was everywhere exposed in the sprawling, ceiling-less maze beyond.

Even Glack felt he’d seen too many naked women by the fifth turn of the maze, and it had been a long, long time since Glack had seen any naked women.

At least they didn’t have to worry about traps. With Handa’s fit finally at an end, they just sent him bounding up ahead to trigger them all. If Handa was howling, thought Glack, then he was still alive and could continue this productive work of removing anything nasty from their path. But by the gods was he howling now.

“Doesn’t even sound human,” said Glack to Cyllth.

“That’s because it isn’t,” said Cyllth, nodding to the immense chamber beyond the archway before them.

Glack couldn’t make out what the wizard was referring to. For some time, all he could see was clusters of broken statues and collapsed pillars, until a blob of what appeared to be humanoids caught his eye through the gaps in the debris. As they pressed on, the humanoids coalesced before Glack’s eyes into a group of goblins prancing around a distraught Handa, goading him and prodding him with pointed sticks.

“How are your sneaking skills?” said Cyllth.

“Non-existent,” said Glack. “But do we really need tricks to save the poor sap? I mean, aren’t Tinbutt and co. the dumbest goblins in all the land?”

“I’m speaking more about that slumbering spectator at the back,” said Cyllth.

Glack couldn’t see shit in relation to a spectator.

“Ah yes, I see it,” said Glack. “And while I agree we shouldn’t add to the noise, you’d think Handa and the morons around him would have awakened the thing by now. Perhaps it’s dead.”

“I can hear it breathing,” said Cyllth.

Before Glack could quiz him on this outrageous claim, Cyllth darted towards a collection of lewd broken statues,
Glack didn’t move from behind the pillar near the chamber’s entrance. If Cyllth fancied his chances against the goblins, why should he get involved himself? There was always the risk, however minor, the miserable creatures could cause him some grievous injury. As for spectators – he didn’t rate these poor man’s beholders, and would not defer to one, no matter the circumstances.

Cyllth continued to flit between the debris until he was a stone’s throw from Handa and the goblins.

If Glack had been in Cyllth’s position right now, he would have just flung a fireball straight into their centre, sleeping specators be damned. But of course Cyllth appeared to have some soft spot for the crazed Handa.

Instead of fireballs, Cyllth cast what appeared to be a sleep spell, knocking all five goblins – as well as Handa – out cold.

Cyllth beckoned to Glack, and Glack played along, tiptoeing as best he could to Cyllth’s location.

Cyllth pointed to the wall at back of the chamber, and Glack nodded in recognition: there lay the globular heap of eyestalks that was a sleeping spectator.

“What now?” whispered Glack, not being in the mood to think of a plan for himself.
“We must fetch Handa and carry him through the doorway next to the spectator,” whispered Cyllth.

“You have to be shitting me,” whispered Glack. “Why not just leave him where he is? The spectator is Jojo’nono’s sole threat. I say we choke the goblins and then return for Handa later.”

“That would not be an honourable thing to do,” whispered Cyllth.

Glack just about manged to supress his derision.

“All right,” whispered Glack. “Let’s choke the goblins and then bring Handa with us.”

Cyllth seemed momentarily pained: Glack sensed he didn’t believe him. And it at this point, Glack was in no mood to offer polite, phony comforts to this strange little man.

“I have your word Handa will not be harmed?” said Cyllth.

Glack just wanted to laugh out loud. But with the straightest, soberest face, he said, “Of course.”

Cyllth furrowed his brow and proceeded to gesture as though conjuring a long-dead god from some extravagant alternate dimension.

What a genuine absolute twat, thought Glack. Could he not just cast his low level crap like every other nobody wizard?

“A deafness spell,” whispered Cyllth, when done, speaking the words as though he’d just sealed the gates to the Nine Hells. “Choke away to your heart’s content.”

Glack almost grinned, as his gaze latched on to Tinbutt’s throat. Of all the idiots he ever encountered, Glack despised Tinbutt the most. And so it was with the deepest satisfaction that Glack first choked the life out of Tinbutt, making sure to stare deep, deep into the gnat’s beady black eyes as he did so.

Who would be next, thought Glack, with a certain glee. Dull’Brainy? Certainly he was annoying as he was dense. But then there was Cronen Lamer, with his stupid blue-tinted hair. Glack recalled many, many unpleasant encounters with this vicious little fool. Could he be even more despicable than Dull’Brainy himself?

Then Glack’s eyes happened to settle, as if by their own accord, on Caldain and Hac’Har’yebe.

Ah yes, thought Glack. Caldain and Hac’Har’yebe, both almost implausibly stupid. Too thick-headed to be even real. And yet here they were: very real indeed.

Glack pulled a coin from his robe. Tymora herself would decide their fate, he concluded, as he tossed the coin into the air.

And then missed it as he attempted to make his catch.

The coin bounced with an unceremonious clinging sound against the hard stone floor, and bounced again. And again. Before rolling out across the stones and triggering a familiar clicking sound from one of the tiles.

Somewhere completely illogical, a number of barrels exploded.

His heart suddenly pounding, Glack swung his gaze towards the spectator.

And then he sighed the greatest sign of relief. Amazingly, the explosion hadn’t woken the menace.

It had, however, woken Handa.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!” came Handa’s roar – so raw and visceral that Glack felt his ears might bleed from the sound of it.

At the back of the chamber, the spectator floated into the air, blinking its eyes over and over, in the manner of one awakening from the deepest slumber.

“This does not, I believe, bode well,” said Cyllth, as though commenting on a patch of spilt milk.

Glack was already sprinting for the nearest piece of cover. He might have had a low opinion of spectators, but he didn’t want to be caught staring one in the eye unless he was fully loaded with spells and properly concealed to boot.

“We come in peace,” said Cyllth, in what occurred to Glack as the most batshit comment he’d yet heard from the wizard. “Whatever treasure you guard, spectator, it is of no interest to us. We simply wish to help our friend here and then–”

“I am no spectator,” said the monstrosity. “Nor am I a mere beholder, should that be your next predictable thought.”

“Then how should we address you?” said Cyllth.

“You may address me,” said the creature, as a crackle of electricity passed across its central eye, “as The Moderator.”


***

“What the fuck is a moderator?” said Glack from behind his cover.

“Silence!” said The Moderator. “You have been given no permission to express yourself in this place. And so be warned that henceforth should you ever again use profanity – fuck, shit, or any other crass equivalent – I will bind you, blind you, take from you your voice, and send you deep, deep beneath the earth, to be caged in a prison of light and terror!”

Glack had never heard such horseshit in all his life, and there was simply no way he would allow himself to be lectured by a glorified wizard’s minion.

“Enough of your miserable posturing!” said Glack, from behind his cover. “You’re just a lowly little spectator – you can’t even cast maze, let alone imprisonment!”

“Who said that?” said The Moderator, as all of its eyes narrowed and a toothsome grimace twisted the lips of its giant maw. “Speak your name, rodent.”

“How about you go eat shit,” said Glack.

“Base insults?” said The Moderator. “Your fate is sealed now, whoever you are, but at least you’ll have an eternity to dwell on your foolishness, for your banishment from this realm will be eternal!”

Glack roared with laughter, and without delay spoke the words of his favourite spell, moonbeam.

A brilliant shaft of light erupted from the sky, engulfing the spectator.

“Well, what are you waiting for, Cyllth?” said Glack to the wizard, who lay hunched behind his own cover several metres away. “Finish him off with one of your sparks, will you.”

“Hmm,” said Cyllth. “My sense is that spells won’t make much difference to this entity.”

“He would be correct,” said The Moderator, floating forth unscathed from what would otherwise be corrosive magic. “This is my realm, insect, and you have broken every rule I have set within it. Thou shalt not insult The Moderator! Thou shalt not incite thy fellows to battle! You are a baiter and a menace, and now – now you will be an outcast until the end of Faerun!”

The spectator’s central eye crackled once more with fearsome energy, and it fixed its gaze on Glack’s position.

“Let your banishment be a warning unto all who would derail the stability of my realm!” said The Moderator.

“Wait!” said a familiar voice, from high up on the huge wall behind the spectator.

“The dog?” said Glack, recalling the creature’s voice from the last time he’d cast ‘speak with animals’ on the thing.
Frantically, Glack he scanned the numerous crevices of the wall for signs of the animal.

“I see him,” confirmed Cyllth.

“Yes, yes – so do I,” said Glack, between gritted teeth.

He couldn’t see shit.

The spectator turned to face the wall.

“Master?” said The Moderator.

“If guarding another empty pot for a hundred years doesn’t sound like your thing,” said the dog, “then I suggest you ease up on the big talk about caging people below the earth.”

“But the rules!” said The Moderator. “Without them, there will be chaos!”

“And if you keep banishing everyone at the first sign of breaking them, what do you think will happen, eh?” said the dog. “You don’t think the visitors to your realm will try to rebel against that? Don’t think they’ll bite back? Someday, then, that bite will be the end of you.”

“But–” said The Moderator.

“No!” said the dog. “Warnings first, then banishments, if that must be your jam. I mean, have you some screw loose that you have to straight up imprison people at the first sign of something off? Restraint. That and reading between the lines might help you avoid an uprising that will be your demise.”

Glack couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. Was this spectator really so stupid that he viewed the dog as his master? Then again, he thought, if these spectators were bitch enough to spend their lives guarding treasure for some worthless wizard, they were surely bitch enough, and dumb enough, to think a random dog was their master.

Pathetic, thought Glack. But also curious. With such power behind him, why did the dog not leverage it and force the spectator’s wrath upon them?

“You may wonder why I spare you,” said the dog, as though he’d read Glack’s thoughts. “But then I’m not you, Glack, with your ‘my best friend’ this and ‘poor little guy’ that, even though you’ve beaten and mocked me nearly every day of my life – even though you’ve used me as a tool to seduce women who have not the slightest interest in you outside the friend zone. That’s because I’m not like you, Glack. I’m not a weak little man who pretends to be something he’s not, to exploit, manipulate and deceive those around him.”

“Well!” said Glack, racking his brain for some appropriate lie that might sate the canine’s anger – but he’d never been put on the spot by a dog before. “That cuts close to the bone,” Glack said at last. “But, eh, yes – perhaps I wasn’t the greatest master. You’re right. I just wanted the two girls, Wa’Mayda or Qween, to keep me company – one of them, I mean!”

“More lies, Glack?” said the dog.

Man’s best friend my arse, thought Glack: the dog really wasn’t making this easy.

“You may not believe me,” said Glack, “but I intend to ponder this exchange for some time. Whether I’ll be the better or worse for it, I cannot say. But you have my word that this act of mercy will not be forgotten lightly!”

“You are lucky the master is a generous being,” said The Moderator, turning to face Glack. “The rules remain, but your sentence of banishment is revoked – for now.”

Glack almost snapped back with a smart retort to the lowlife aberration, but thought the better of it after some consideration.

Perhaps he was a changed man already, Glack thought. Then again, he was also out of third level spells. Best to head home as fast he could, in one piece – in the name of peace.