[BG3 SPOILERS]

[faessi]

Player Info
Player Name: Rona
Pronouns: she/her
Contact: ochrona

Permissions: Here!
Invite: the invite was coming from inside the house

Character Info
Character Name: The Emperor (formerly Balduran)
Canon/Canon Point: Baldur's Gate III / sometime in Act 1
Character Age: 450ish and I do NOT care enough abt the timeline of Faerûn to get more specific than that
History:

Once upon a time there was an adventurer named Balduran. He was the first from the continent of Faerûn to sail west and make contact with the continent of Anchorome. There, he and his crew "collected" treasure from the local human and elven settlements, and they brought these riches back to their small port hometown of Grey Harbour.

Balduran put most of this wealth into the construction of a great wall to defend Grey Harbour from raids by orc settlements. The gate was named for him, and soon became the best-known feature of the settlement, which gradually lost the name Grey Harbour entirely. Thus began the city of Baldur's Gate.

But Balduran wasn't content to sit back with his riches. Ever restless, he set sail for the frozen north, this time accompanied by the great bronze dragon Ansur. The dragon was enamored with Balduran's love of adventure, and they became fast friends, then partners. They returned as high-level adventurers, the city's guardians and unspoken rulers, Balduran's ambition coupled with Ansur's commitment to wisdom and justice.

But still Balduran could not settle, and he set sail for Anchorome again. The voyage was a disaster: he lost much of his crew, and conscripted local villagers to join his expedition in their place. Those villagers turned out to be lycanthropes. When they transformed, everything descended into bloodshed and chaos, and Balduran was never publicly heard from again.

It wasn't the end of his adventures. Having narrowly survived, Balduran ventured inland to Moonrise Towers in search of new glory. There, he was captured by mind flayers, also called illithids: a hivemind race that feeds on brains to survive. They reproduce by infecting living hosts with their parasites, which violently transform the host into a new member of the hivemind.

Balduran was turned. He became illithid, an enthralled member of the collective. Ansur found him, broke him from that mind control, and brought him home. But there was no way to reverse the transformation.

Ansur searched tirelessly for a cure, his spirit nearly broken by desperation. The newborn illithid insisted it wanted no cure, that it was at peace with its new self: it now felt complete, unbounded, fully-realized. To become human* again would be stifling and horrible. It couldn't feel human emotions in the same way, but it was still distressed by Ansur's anguish. And it remembered their life together. You are the best thing that ever happened to me, it wrote to Ansur. I have never had to ask you for anything, but I am asking you now to stop.

Ansur tried to kill it in its sleep. This, in my opinion, is where things went downhill.

The illithid fought back and won: the dragon lay dead. Now profoundly alone, the former Balduran retreated into the underbelly of the city. It disguised itself as human and allied with Duke Belynne Stelmane, leader of the Knights of the Shield, a secret society of information brokers and manipulators. It later speaks of her as a dear and intimate confidante. She was the last being to ever give it a hug.

But if the relationship was ever genuine, it didn't last. At some point, the illithid - perhaps trying to forestall another betrayal - asserted mental control over Stelmane. She became its thrall, and her struggling against mind control only sent her health into decline. One way or another, the betrayal did come: Gortash, one Stelmane's contacts, sold the illithid back to the collective. It lost its free will again.

Gortash is the one who named it "the Emperor," meant as a jab about its fall from power: once a ruler, now a monster enslaved to monsters. It lost years serving the hivemind, which sent it to retrieve a special artefact. That's when the Emperor had another chance at freedom, because the artefact could shake the hivemind's control. In its presence, the Emperor was free.

And this time it would do anything to maintain that freedom. It went rogue, diverted its mission - even sent its ship careening through Hell to throw off its pursuers - and snatched up hapless passersby to infect as potential allies and thralls. That's you, the player character. Throughout the game, it is your protector, your manipulator, your dubiously trustworthy mentor hiding behind an illusion and an alias. It fights desperately for exactly one thing: the death of the hivemind and the pseudo-god at its core. No cost is too great for the end of that existential threat.

In short, this guy's a Neutral-aligned manipulative pragmatist down to his no-longer-human bones. Also he tries to seduce you at least twice. Per canon, if you go for it, the mindmeld tentacle sex is the best thing your PC has ever experienced. Enjoy this knowledge.

* Note: BG3 suggests Balduran was an elf to explain his long lifespan, but all other canon sets him up as human and I like that better. Shh.

Powers: The Emperor can read minds, induce sleep in a target, communicate via telepathy, and mind-control a victim. It can levitate, use powerful telekinesis, and conjure a temporary shield around itself or an ally. It can slow the movements of its enemies, chain bolts of lightning between multiple targets, and summon spooky black tentacles to attack on its behalf. It can also disguise itself with illusions that look and feel real. Lastly, its tentacles can deliver a toxin that eats through flesh and bone. All of the mind-affecting powers can be resisted by strong-willed or magically gifted individuals, and the rest have an extremely limited number of uses per day.

Role in Ashbrook
Character Skills: As the Emperor: planning, information-gathering, politics, manipulation, piloting (eldritch spacecraft). As Balduran: exploration, navigation, sailing, combat, leadership, riding (dragons).

Character Values: Freedom, exploration; rising to a challenge, the pursuit of knowledge and mastery; power, control, self-reliance.

Role Opt-Outs: None! NPCs can know him as Balduran (he/him) or as the Emperor (it/they/he). Go wild.

Bonus details?: YES

Personality

It's said that illithids are soulless, egotistical, sadistic monsters that cannot feel emotion. In fact, about half these things appear to be true. Most illithids lose their souls upon transforming; that former sense of self is gone forever, and it's rare for an illithid to retain clear memories of their human life. They are distanced from others, claiming a clarity of thought and sense of self-mastery that feels alien to humankind. Still, illithids are people, with all the agency and variety that entails.

Even when he was human, Balduran seemed to place his own freedom and success over all else. He was, put bluntly, a raiding conquistador; he took two hundred men across the sea with the full expectation of losing men but gaining gold. He was obsessed with greatness, and that trait has persisted into his new life. This individualism is at odds with illithid culture, where he ought to be subsumed to serve the "Grand Design."

The Emperor, once a man for whom freedom and glory was everything, suffered under repeated enslavement to that higher power. The Emperor may not be Balduran anymore, and indeed "Baldur the Brave" may have been appalled by its methods of scheming from the shadows. But we see moments of emotion which align with the man it used to be: rather than keep a dragon for an ally, it pleads with Ansur to pursue his own happiness and be free. It lashes out in scorn, attempting to intimidate you, when repeatedly belittled. It reminisces fondly about Balduran's pet dog, now centuries dead. And because this is a game for monsterfuckers, you can have horny mindmeld scenes with the Emperor, in which you sense its genuine affection and warmth.

Still, the Emperor no longer experiences human emotion with human immediacy, and that distance has decreased its capacity for empathy. When it meets Ansur's ghost, centuries after their fight to the death, it reacts with a startled curiosity that clashes with Ansur's sorrow. It speaks fondly and intimately of Stelmane, a woman we know it later mind-controlled into compliance. And in dealing with PCs, it is fundamentally dishonest: coming to allies only in dreams, with half-truths and praise, wearing an attractive glamour.

But, at the end of all things, the Emperor can face a choice: to kill the hivemind and save the land, or to claim that power for itself and become a pseudo-god. For an amoral being so obsessed with freedom, power, and the overcoming of challenges - greatness, in a word - the lure of godhood ought to be immense. And yet, unless you convince it otherwise, the Emperor follows through on its promise to destroy this great evil. Knowing the city will never welcome an illithid savior, it slips away without fanfare.

The Emperor is a polarizing character. Many argue that its enthrallment of Stelmane, and its unapologetic manipulation of the PC, render it simply evil. It's certainly self-serving and unafraid to cause suffering in the pursuit of its goals. It will always put its survival first, and that's a personal failing - elsewhere in the game, we see another illithid who does intend to sacrifice itself for the greater good. Still, as the Emperor once claimed, it "tries to exercise morality where it can." It clamors more for freedom than for power, and seems to genuinely want that same freedom for its allies. It doesn't pursue altruism for its own sake, but then, did Balduran?

In Ashbrook, the Emperor will find it profoundly jarring to be treated as human, and will fumble humiliatingly under power nerfing. Without telepathy and telekinesis, it will have to relearn how to speak and move with any elegance; PC bystanders will probably regard it as a shambling horror. It is likely to retreat to the woods at the first opportunity, hole up alone, and spend its time on scheming and research.

Also, mind flayers must eat a brain - ideally human, ideally still alive - about once a month to stay healthy. I'm sure that won't cause any problems.

Samples
Here!

Comments

[faessi]

in the city.

The moment you step into the cafe, you see the squid monster. It's enormous, long-limbed and looming, the sides of its head rippling like exposed brain tissue. But there's something sickly, almost pathetic, about it: the tentacles hang heavy from its face. There's an exhausted bow to its back, its movements inelegant and delayed. It looks like a creature not meant to walk on solid land.

Insanely, it's wearing a dress shirt and holding a dog leash. The dog isn't on the leash: a scruffy mutt has slipped his collar to bark furiously at the squid monster. The other patrons of the cafe seem to find this funny, exciting, or mildly irritating. No one even looks twice at the tentacles.

In the hideous, guttural whisper of a creature never meant to speak aloud, the squid monster says: "I apologize. I will take him outside." It looms towards the dog, which scampers back - directly into your legs.

in the woods.

Away from town, it's a different story. Those with psionic or magical awareness might feel a presence brush their mind, cool and distant as some starlit sea. Something is watching them. If they happen to be immune to such scrutiny, or well-defended, the presence only tightens with sharp interest. If they're too mundane to notice, well: all the better.

The underbrush stirs with calm, telegraphed footfalls. (It isn't real.) There is the clink and sparkle of well-kept armor. (There's nothing there.) From the forest emerges an elven adventurer, brown-skinned and windblown, with a sword at his hip. It's a masterful illusion, and its master is taking a gamble. More unbelievable for a human to know nothing of the local settlements; a wandering wood elf, reclusive but elegant, ought to stir fewer suspicions.

The elf says something in a language you can't parse, unless you speak Faerûnian Common. Then, patiently, he tries again in English.

"Well met, traveler," says the elf.

woods

[lindenhearted]

The woods were one of the few places where he felt both fully himself-- but also at his most vulnerable. Still dressed in his civilian clothes of sturdy pants that had multiple pockets in easy reach, equally sturdy boots, and a rough flannel that had the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, Siegfried would have passed as almost ordinary...

Almost.

His long hair, tied back and messy, was the first indication that he wasn't as ordinary as he tried to seem, and there was no way he could hide the glowing crest of Fafnir that peeked up over his collar. Surely, he was an odd sight. And, likely doubly so due to being utterly unphased by the elf that appeared before him.

Rather than react in fear and aggression, Siegfried quietly looked him up and down before releasing a sigh.

"Well met." He said. "Did you just find yourself here?"

[faessi]

"I'm afraid so," says the elf, with a wry sort of tilt to his mouth. He looks at Siegfried with open interest, but a sort of approval, too: sizing up a fellow adventurer, someone else apparently worthy of note. His gaze lingers on the glow etched upon the young man's skin. (He is utterly mystified trying to sort out what he's looking at.)

"Is that a common circumstance in this place?"

[lindenhearted]

The stare was not a new occurrence. Siegfried was used to it, for slaying the cursed dragon had left transferred to him in the way so visible that his very flesh had darkened from the bloodstains that simply would not be washed away. An idle shrug-- and discreet non-acknowledgement of the curious eyes-- was his response.

He didn't brag, but he was a Prince in his own right.

"I am not certain," he said simply. "It isn't an uncommon circumstance, though. Just... do try not to speak of it openly? Some among our number are convinced that we'll be penalized if we are too cavalier on this matter."

[faessi]

"Is that so?" Interesting: that's new information. The elf frowns, the picture of puzzled concern; it's only right to be wary. "Penalized by what authority?"

The delicate dance, here, is in the Emperor's uncertainty of what it's meant to know. It holds the shape of an illusory lifetime in its head, but it is illithid: psychic communication comes as freely to it as breathing. There's no telling whether it was meant to glean such information.

are we out of the woods yet are we out of the woods yet are we o--

[uragiri]

Dazai's ability is a flawless failsafe to make sure that other people's powers and abilities can't do much to him-- but they can't do very much about reality, when someone wants to warp that to suit their needs. Dazai's mind is a cool, blue, blank expanse filled with absolutely nothing. He doesn't seem to notice any prying movements as far as awareness goes. Why would he, when his own ability simply shuts things down before they can get very far in?

Dazai looks at the "elf" for a long moment. His face twitches. And then--

He bursts into laughter. He doubles over from it, in fact. There might actually be tears in his eyes. He certainly reaches up to wipe them away when he manages to straighten.

"That's a bit on the nose," Dazai offers, cheerfully. "You're taking the roleplaying thing a little far."

Dazai doesn't know if this person is roleplaying an elf or if he really is an elf. It doesn't matter. His reaction is identical either way, because either way, it's hilarious.

[faessi]

Well, that's certainly a new reaction. The elf stills, expression faintly guarded, shading towards annoyance— then it leans into perplexed, as though waiting for this to resolve into a more useful conversation. It takes longer than one would expect.

"I'm not entirely sure what you mean," offers the elf, in the tones of someone being dutifully polite to a rude acquaintance. "Perhaps you could help me understand."

Privately, the Emperor is scrambling to recalculate: has it misunderstood? Certainly it arrived with fragments of foreign information, understandings imparted by no clear source, but it is a psychically receptive being by nature. An actual elf oughtn't have gained such insights, surely. To pretend at being human and fail would have been been far less excusable. Better to play the hapless outsider.

illithid gender essay

[faessi]

Imagine a beehive. The queen is a long-lived reproductive powerhouse; drones are shorter-lived very special boys; the remainder are nonreproductive workers. The hive functions as one eusocial super-organism, where individuals don't matter much, because they're not really the unit of self which seeks to reproduce. The hive is.

Illithids work a bit like that. At the center is an elder brain, which sends out psionic signals directing the rest of the colony's parts. 3.5e suggests that elder brains are timeless and eldritch, whereas older editions and 5e canon declare them the mature life stage of an ulitharid, a slightly bigger and cooler mind flayer - effectively, a juvenile queen bee. All the rest are illithids, the workers.

Illithid colonies oppressively de-emphasize individuality, given the analogy of workers orbiting an all-important queen. Old editions propose cultural factions which seem to form an illithid's most significant identity marker alongside age and psionic ability, but even that emphasizes usefulness to the collective. True identity formation - the cultivation of individual personality traits, quirks, preferences, memories - is taboo.

But that isn't a natural state. Unlike a queen bee, the elder brain isn't actually the reproductive force of the colony: it's a parasite. It sways all nearby ulitharids and illithids into protecting it, nourishing it, living in its orbit. Illithids and ulitharids can reproduce just fine on their own, as both have only a single (hermaphroditic) sex. They're simply enslaved to a hivemind.

The Emperor loathes that culture. In many ways, it has more in common with an ulitharid (towering build, immense power, civilization-founding ambitions, etc) than the average illithid. But if 'illithid' and 'ulitharid' function as social genders in the colony, with expected social performances, the Emperor has opted out. It doesn't seem to have a gender that fits into illithid society, but it also doesn't seem to have a gender that fits into ours.

Illithids don't usually remember their human lives. The Emperor does. It not only recalls its backstory in the abstract, but it can share vivid flashbacks and comment on its past emotional states. Being illithid is deeply important to its identity, but having been Balduran is also a fundamental part of itself. To the player, it avoids discussing the latter, but I suspect this is because it fears a repeat of Ansur— someone who refused to see its new identity as genuine.

The usual pronoun for any illithid is it/its, which conveys nonhuman identity, but also conveys loss of personhood to the colony: "it was a mindless monster." By contrast, they/them implies personhood, but also seems to align with human culture and expectations in a way the Emperor finds frustrating. The Emperor passed as human for years, with a neutral-to-masculine title, voice, and disguise. But it's most at ease when it can be itself: a being from two worlds, belonging in neither.

The Emperor says that becoming illithid is a freeing sense of self-realization and surpassing your past constraints. Without hesitation, it will craft male-, female-, and nonbinary-presenting illusions to interface with the human world. It will adopt whatever genital set your PC finds most appealing. The performance doesn't bother it, but that has no bearing on inner self.

As I see it, the Emperor is agender, but retains comfort with its past masculinity. The fandom seems to heavily favor he/him when talking about this character, and I understand why: compared to other illithids, it presents with a more-masc-than-average voice, name, and clothing. But when I use he/him, it'll generally be in OOC contexts, oversimplifying in service of the bit.

My IC narration will tend towards it/its or they/them, which each have different limitations but can get the point across. ICly, my Emperor doesn't much care either way. To an illithid, language is limiting and reductive by principle - any term it chooses will be a mask.

tl;dr: motherfucker became a squid and surpassed gender, we love to see it