Tag: gaming

  • A Love Letter to”Baldur’s Gate 3″

    A Love Letter to”Baldur’s Gate 3″

    When I was little, my grandmother told me a story about a woman my uncle dated in college who played Dungeons & Dragons. The two reportedly had a deep connection and a happy relationship, until one day when she came out to him as an elf. My uncle, believing her to be joking, cheekily asked whether she had pointy ears. Unfortunately, far from finding the question funny, his girlfriend found it deeply insulting. She proceeded to speak about the grand, real world mission she had embarked upon, as well as the myriad races she was in eternal combat against. My uncle was stunned, and perhaps unsurprisingly, their relationship ended shortly after.

    A sample D&D game.

    As an evangelical, my grandmother shared this story to emphasize how fantasy was a slippery slope. The Devil, she whispered to me, works in crafty ways — one minute you think you’re playing a game, and the next, you’re convinced that you’re an elf. The only way to protect your sanity and avoid eternal damnation is, therefore, by avoiding anything and everything fantastical.

    Although certainly fascinating, I’m happy to share that this cautionary tale had little impact on me. I continued to smuggle Harry Potter books into my grandmother’s sleepy Adirondack home, and I even devoured a copy of Twilight beneath her roof one summer. And while I would’ve loved to receive a letter from Hogwarts or stumble into a chance encounter with a sexy vampire, I didn’t burst into flames for having those thoughts, nor did I seriously believe they would happen. This leads me to believe that my uncle’s girlfriend didn’t sign a pact with Satan, and instead, was likely working through some mental health struggles. But who knows?

    Regardless of the truth, I’ve been thinking about this story a lot lately. Not only because many far-right views seem to be increasingly gaining traction, but because I recently spent nearly 100 hours playing as an elf in Baldur’s Gate 3.

    Brainworms, Companions, and Elvish Circumcision

    Developed by Larian Studios, Baldur’s Gate 3 (BG3) is a direct adaptation of Dungeons & Dragons and uses the tabletop game’s Forgotten Realms mechanics and setting. Chief among these is a twenty-sided die, which determine your success in everything from combat to dialogue. Prior to BG3, I had only played D&D once years ago, so much of this was new to me. But after some trial and error, the systems became second nature, and I quickly became engrossed in the world of Faerûn.

    My uncle’s ex would almost certainly be familiar with polyhedral dice; they resolve events in D&D.

    The premise of Baldur’s Gate 3 is quite simple. After a parasitic brainworm infects you and your companions, you embark on a race against the clock to find a cure. Predictably, this ends up being more convoluted than it sounds, and the plot thickens in many meaningful — and sometimes surprising — ways. But while I loved the story and the myriad options players have to navigate it, the companions were — and continue to be — my favorite part of BG3.

    I grew up playing RPGs and story-driven FPS titles (that’s role-playing games and first-person shooters, for the uninitiated), and I spent a good chunk of my adolescent years exploring worlds with Kaiden Alenko in Mass Effect, debating morality with Kreia in Star Wars Knights of the Old Republic II, and fighting the Combine with Alyx Vance in the Half-Life series. These fictional beings had a profound impact on me, and while I still think of their stories to this day, Larian has managed to create a character ensemble unlike no other.

    From Shadowheart, a cleric who worships the goddess of darkness, to Gale, the eloquent wizard who I ended up romancing, each of the ten recruitable companions has a unique story, as well as perspectives that dictate their feelings towards you. Want to stop to help a group of refugees, even to your own detriment? Gale might appreciate doing so, but Astarion, a manipulative vampire with a complex past, probably won’t. Tired of trying to negotiate your way past a pair of guards? You can always just attack them — an act that Lae’zel, a battle-hardened githyanki warrior, will almost certainly approve of. While the diverse strengths and weaknesses of your companions makes progressing through fights incredibly rewarding, their personalities and stories outside of combat are what really make them shine.

    My elf character alongside Gale (far left), Lae’zel (back left), and Shadowheart (right).

    Amazingly, Larian also chose to extend this care to almost every non-companion character you encounter. The studio worked with over 240 voice actors for the game, helping everyone from goblin raiders to the neighborhood hag not just look compelling, but sound so too. While I’m often prone to skipping lengthy dialogue scenes, I found myself actively listening to almost everything in BG3, just to soak it all in.

    There are so many other aspects of the game worth gushing about, such as character creation. (Besides selecting a race, class, and origin, you even choose your character’s genitalia. I wonder how my grandmother would feel about me spending an afternoon debating whether elves practice circumcision.) But after recently wrapping up my first playthrough as a pointy-eared elvish bard, I think it’s worth highlighting what makes Baldur’s Gate 3 such an important game in 2026.

    Swimming Against the Tide of Enshittification

    I’ve written previously about the depressing state of the modern gaming industry. Video games have gone from products to services — from items you buy once to tools designed to extract ongoing investment. This has allowed companies to enshittify entire series, alienating longstanding fanbases and setting worryingly low new standards in the process.

    It’s also worth mentioning that video games have, historically, catered to heterosexual men, with the desires of women, LGBTQ+ people, and other minorities being little more than afterthoughts. In recent years, I’d argue that many of the biggest enshittifiers have been able to don masks of Progressivism, whether through adding shallow queer romances into games or slapping Pride colors onto their company logos once a year. Like so much of “corporate responsibility,” this veneer serves a dual function; besides appealing to minority players, it works to hide labor abuses, industry consolidation, and the often bigoted beliefs of company executives.

    While no game is perfect, Baldur’s Gate 3 still manages to feel like a breath of fresh air against this backdrop of decay.

    Unlike just about every other modern title, BG3 was released as a complete product. There’s not a lick of DLC (downloadable content), paywalled mechanics, or — God forbid — cosmetic additions; buying the game lets you own it in its entirety. Now, no launch is flawless, and bugs and balancing issues were certainly present upon BG3‘s release in Summer 2023. But over the years, the game has seen several massive patches, and most players today appear satisfied with its state.

    Far from cheap virtue signaling, Baldur’s Gate 3 is also a masterclass in true inclusivity. All companions are “playersexual,” meaning they’re open to romance regardless of their gender. Outside of diversity, BG3 also explores deep topics like trauma and abuse, with several characters grappling with complex issues from their past. The best part is that, in many ways, all of this is both meaningful yet inconsequential. If you want to romance one — or more — of your companions or help certain characters process past trauma, you can. Alternatively, you can avoid it all and just progress through the main parts of the story. It’s completely up to you.

    Larian’s genuine care for Baldur’s Gate 3 is evident, and I believe much of this is due to the company’s independent status. The studio’s head of production, David Walgrave, said it best: “We don’t have shareholders, but we also don’t think about them.”

    Translation: When there aren’t vulture hovering over you, rushing deadlines or screeching about the bottom line, you can take the time to craft something truly meaningful.

    Charting a Path Forward

    While writing this essay, I learned that the Dungeons & Dragons IP is owned by Wizards of the Coast (WOTC), a Hasboro subsidiary. If you’re also skeptical of almost every large corporation these days, it probably won’t surprise you to learn that WOTC has seen multiple rounds of recent layoffs, including nearly 90% of D&D‘s virtual tabletop team. Hasboro’s CEO, Chris Cocks, has also spoken positively about AI, specifically saying how Hasboro — and WOTC, through extension — will use it “significantly and liberally.” As D&D has always been an imaginative, indie space where people can unleash their creativity and bond with other fantasy-lovers, I find this particularly egregious.

    Last December, Larian Studios announced their next title: Divinity. While I’m less familiar with the Divinity series, it’s reassuring that Larian fully owns the IP, as it should free them from the constraints they likely faced when producing Baldur’s Gate 3. Hopefully, the studio can continue to offer players thoughtful gaming experiences, even as institutional rot becomes more apparent than ever.

    As I conclude my first playthrough and begin planning my second, I can’t help but wonder whether my uncle’s ex has played, or even heard of, the wonder that is Baldur’s Gate 3. I hope that she has, just to live out the elvish fantasy that — clearly — had a large impact on her younger years. Maybe someday, I’ll raise a glass to her, throw it back, and sit down with my grandmother to explain why imagining yourself as an elf — yes, with pointy ears, a queer lover, and a parasite in your brain — can actually be beautiful.

  • From Player to Customer

    From Player to Customer

    While I’m only 30, I increasingly feel like I’m in a nursing home, complaining to my grandkids about how things used to be as they lead me to the bathroom because I shit myself.

    “Kids, when I was your age, video games used to be products, not services,” I tut. “You’d buy a game and own it outright; none of this DLC crap.”

    “Sure, grandpa…” my granddaughter says after cleaning me up. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

    Video games were an integral part of my childhood, and I have vivid memories of walking to Target with my dad to buy titles like The Sims 2, Fallout 3, and Mass Effect — all for PC DVD-ROM. After running home and installing whatever I’d bought, I’d then immediately start playing. I owned physical copies of these games, and even if I’d leave them out of their cases, causing the discs to get scratched (as I often did), they were mine.

    In the early-to-mid 2000s, series like The Sims began to gradually increase the number of expansion packs they released. While I found this frustrating (as my dad did too; he, after all, funded my gaming addiction), these expansions generally added exciting new features to games. My Sims, for example, went from living in sprawling mansions and perennial summers to apartments with pets, as the seasons changed and they danced at clubs every night. During this era, video game companies — including larger corporations — seemed genuinely interested in making fun products for their customers, and the love for their creations shone through in the final products.

    But as I blinked and two decades flashed by, something changed.

    While I still enjoy gaming, every title I play today I launch through Steam, which, while convenient, means I don’t technically own my games. Instead, I purchase licenses to play them — something that Valve could yank away at any time. (Amazon did this exact thing to Kindle users when it removed, of all titles, 1984.) My custom-built computer doesn’t even have a DVD drive, and microtranscations from the frivolous to the insulting have infested series as distant as The Sims and Assassin’s Creed.

    Often, this desire for profit is evident not just in bloated menus clogged with advertisements, but in the quality of games themselves. While digital artists continue to pour their hearts into their creations, executive boards frequently push studios into releasing half-baked, buggy titles that feel lightyears away from being customer-ready. Series like The Sims have shifted from products to services; from something you purchase once and enjoy to something designed to extract ongoing investment.

    Today, many games have entire portions of content locked away, only to be sold back to customers in subsequent DLCs. Depending on the title, players can expect to invest hundreds — and sometimes even thousands — of dollars to play games in their entirety. And while some releases are so abhorrently barebones that companies are forced to grunt out half-hearted apologies, many seem content to screw people over.

    Why? Because they can.

    As Cory Doctorow explains in his book Enshittification:

    Companies don’t treat you well because they’re “good” capitalists, and they don’t abuse you because they’re “bad” capitalists… Companies abuse you if they can get away with it.

    Companies like Electronic Arts, Activision Blizzard, and Embracer Group have been allowed to gobble up competitors, mistreat their workers, and erode trust with loyal players. EA, in particular, stands as a bleak example of corporate greed — the company went from funding innovative titles to ruining longstanding series like SimCity. As of writing this, EA is poised to be acquired by Saudi Arabia’s Public Investment Fund (PIF) in 2026. If the deal proceeds, the $55 billion buyout would give the despotic regime ownership over 93.4% of the company, with the remaining 6.6% going to Silver Lake and Affinity Partners — the latter of which was founded by none other than Jared Kushner. (And notably, the PIF is already a “significant investor” in both firms).

    As a longtime video gamer, all of this is depressing, but you don’t have to look far to find other industries where corporate ghouls are living out their wettest, wildest, and most exploitative dreams. Digital design software paywalling color packs; tech giants fighting tooth and nail against Right to Repair legislation; streaming services that now have ads unless you pay more. Enshittification is ubiquitous, and it’s forcing us to spend money on purchases and subscriptions that would’ve seemed absurd just a few years ago.

    In protest, I’ve begun making the shift back to physical media wherever possible. While making space for boxes of video games and Blu-ray discs is far from enjoyable, I see it as a necessary evil — I’d rather create clutter than give another cent to the companies hollowing out what we used to enjoy. And while drawing a line in the metaphorical sand feels empowering, it’s crucial to recognize that individual choices alone won’t impact the powers at play. EA, after all, is being acquired for 55 thousand million dollars.

    As Doctorow highlights in his book, escaping the depths of enshittification hell will require a combination of four factors:

    1. A return to staunch antitrust enforcement (something we briefly saw under FTC Chair Lina Khan)
    2. Strong competition that keeps companies innovating, instead of abusing
    3. Empowered workers that can restrain executive overreach
    4. Interoperability that lets us own, repair, share, and do whatever the fuck we want with the products we purchase

    We’ll never be able to convince the handful of ketamine-addled sociopaths wrecking society to care about us. Instead, we need to demand it through legislation and worker power. And while things in the United States may seem bleak at the moment (Trump is almost certainly the embodiment of political enshittifcation) the movement to check corporate greed is growing across many parts of the world.

    I’ll always be a gamer, and despite disappointing trends, I’ve still been able to find incredible titles that have made me feel like I was a child again, unopened copy of a new video game in-hand. But I look forward to the day when video game companies — and corporations in other industries — are forced to show us the dignity we deserve.