Baldur’s Gate 3, a vast and immersive role-playing game, presents players with a myriad of decisions and choices that may result in a roll of the die. Failed rolls in Baldur’s Gate 3 can have significant consequences, ranging from minor alterations to major shifts in the storyline. Despite having modifiers and tools at your disposal, the ultimate outcome rests on chance. This brings us to the ongoing save-scum debate. In many ways, it seems trivial; it’s your game, so you should play it as you wish. However, I would like to encourage perfectionists out there to embrace failure. As a self-proclaimed save-scummer, with my extensive files in games like XCOM Enemy Unknown and Fire Emblem serving as evidence, I can confidently say that failure in Baldur’s Gate 3 can lead to intriguing and clever role-playing moments that deepen my appreciation for Larian Studios’ creation.
Allow me to present an example. If you wish to avoid spoilers, feel free to skip ahead to the next section. During my adventures in the Shadow-Cursed Lands, I encountered a bizarre distillery run by a grotesque bartender who catered to an equally eerie clientele. Judging by his demeanor and appearance, it was clear that this individual could easily become a formidable boss if I didn’t handle the situation properly. My companions warned me that the bartender was verging on the brink of exploding due to the hazardous elixirs he consumed. So, in order to gather information and avoid a fight, I needed to keep him engaged in conversation and alcohol consumption. The challenge lay in impressing him enough to maintain his interest. And how did I fare? Well… I rolled a natural 1.
What I love about the die system is its ability to encourage risk-taking. Regardless of the stat check, there’s always a 1-in-20 chance of success with a natural 20. Conversely, there’s also a 1-in-20 chance of failure. Nothing is guaranteed, which means your hopes can either be lifted or crushed at any given moment. With a DC of 21 and only two Inspiration points, which can be used for re-rolls, I had the choice to save-scum or accept the outcome. I chose the latter, fully expecting a boss battle. However, to my surprise, the bartender simply mocked my story without initiating combat. He ridiculed my tales of venturing through the Hells when, in his eyes, he was already living in a hellscape. In order to maintain the conversation and keep him drinking, I had to roll a Deception check and spin an even more impressive tale. Thus, the entire encounter revolved around me attempting to impress the bartender through storytelling, despite my repeated failures, while also skillfully faking my own drinks. In the end, I obtained the necessary information and the boss exploded, all without firing a single Eldritch Blast. Throughout the encounter, I teetered on the edge, maintaining a façade of confidence while barely passing each check.
Making failure feel rewarding is a challenge in role-playing games. I often think back to Mass Effect when this topic arises. It’s incredible that failing a dialogue in Mass Effect 1 can result in losing Wrex, a party member who plays a prominent role in major quests during ME2 and ME3. While I appreciate this aspect, I have seldom chosen to experience it myself. However, I must admit that I don’t let every die roll play out. There have been instances where I have save-scummed certain sequences. These are the rules I follow when deciding whether to roll back a save:
1. Combat. If a party member falls or the fight goes awry, rolling back the save is acceptable.
2. Romance. As a Charisma-based character, I am not inclined to fail all of my romantic endeavors.
3. Animals. I will always save-scum to ensure no harm comes to any animals during my journey. (Unfortunately, some animals did suffer. I can’t save them all.)
Nevertheless, there are times when I make bold choices just to see what unfolds. Witnessing the various outcomes is what initially sparked my newfound appreciation for failure. In a conversation with Raphael, a devilish deal-maker, he asked me to take care of a lingering task in a dungeon I was about to explore. Naturally, I desired more information. So, I decided to roll and see if I could squeeze additional details out of him. I failed, and the expression on his face when I dared to ask for more can only be described as priceless. Despite not getting what I wanted in that particular scenario, I refused to roll back the save. I appreciated that my protagonist, whom I affectionately call “Half-Elf Anderson Cooper,” failed in that moment. I felt rewarded because it seemed like Larian intended for that failure to be a meaningful part of the story.
The dice roll in a game like Dungeons & Dragons serves a purpose beyond simply punishing players. It is a system designed to inject a bit of chaos into the experience. Surprisingly, failures can be narratively thrilling. Stories about people who always make the right choices would be rather dull. Similarly, Baldur’s Gate 3 allows me to fail while making those failures feel like integral pieces of my personal story. Rolling a natural 20 is exhilarating because it comes after numerous close failures. Systems like the Karmic Dice attempt to balance this out, but there’s still a captivating allure in things going awry. Sure, you can specialize in Deception, enhance your modifiers, and have Shadowheart constantly casting Guidance on you. However, it doesn’t guarantee a successful roll of the die. Baldur’s Gate 3 even provides certain tools that allow you to force a pass, albeit often with consequences. The interplay between these systems leads to dramatic moments, and the tension is palpable as you watch the virtual die tumble on-screen. I previously wrote about a similar experience with Disco Elysium, another game that embraced the power of failure in storytelling. Those instances when your character proves to be less capable than they believe, or less perceptive than they claim, or when their mind wanders during a critical conversation, all contribute to the richness of the narrative. There’s nothing quite like encountering four failed Perception rolls while traversing an ostensibly mundane road.
Even successes have their own stories to tell. In one instance, I needed to pass an Athletics check in order to roll a gondola back up to my location. My Warlock failed the first attempt, followed by Shadowheart and Lae’zel, who together couldn’t budge it either. You know who succeeded in moving the heavy piece of wood, defying gravity to ensure our safe travel? Gale, the bookish Wizard. In that moment, I like to imagine that he felt as powerful as Osvald, the formidable mage from Octopath Traveler 2.
So by all means, save-scum the moments that matter most to you. If you eagerly anticipate a romantic scene with Karlach, don’t settle for anything less than success on those rolls. However, consider letting some of the less critical rolls result in failure. Observe and embrace the outcomes. Larian has invested considerable effort in ensuring that failures have their own narrative significance, often leading to compelling branching paths. Experiencing these moments won’t just deepen your appreciation for the vast world of Baldur’s Gate 3; it may also provide material for a captivating story in the future.
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