Chapter Text
TAV
Race: Golden Dragonborn
Age: 35
Pronouns: They/Them
Class: Oathbreaker Paladin
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Setting: Forgotten Realms (Dungeons & Dragons), Baldur's Gate 3
Background:
Once upon a time in Murghôm, a cult lost its collective mind over a shiny golden baby. Since otherworldly dragonborn were not exactly local fauna, the cultists naturally hailed baby Tav as a divine omen. Enter Korrinnax. He was a crippled, clairvoyant dragon who crashed the party, vaporized the cult, and adopted the glowing infant.
Seeing an opportunity wrapped in heroic prophecy, Korrinnax honed Tav into the perfect diplomat to bridge the gap between mortals and dragons. Thus, Tav became a heavily rehearsed hometown hero. The clueless citizens adored them, actual dragons treated them like a court jester, and Tav was entirely dependent on validation from Korrinnax.
Naturally, when the old reptile finally kicked the bucket, the show spectacularly halted. After several months of dramatically rotting in bed and realizing that societal responsibilities are a complete scam, Tav left Murghôm to either fend for itself or explode.
A string of catastrophically bad life choices later, they wandered into Baldur's Gate and discovered the sheer ecstasy of minimum wage. Hauling crates, walking dogs, playing glorified mall cop; if the pay was abysmal and the dignity nonexistent, Tav was having the time of their life. Anything was fine as long as it's entertaining. Leaving all important decisions to whimsical nihilism kinda did that to you.
Then came the mind flayer tadpole. While everyone else shrieked about impending ceremorphosis, Tav reacted with a shrug and casual, "Eh, guess I'll die."
This total lack of self-preservation was a massive inconvenience for the rogue illithid secretly pulling the strings. Forced into the deeply humiliating role of personal therapist and emotional support squid for Tav, the Emperor had to endlessly coddle a highly weaponizable pawn who was completely starved for praise.
It certainly did not help that those golden scales awkwardly reminded him of his dead dragon ex. That detail accounts for at least thirty percent of the terrible decisions made during their partnership.
Fueled by an extreme amount of codependency and a curiosity to see what would happen next, Baldur’s Gate was saved. The Elderbrain was killed. The Emperor was free. Tav accidentally fulfilled the grand prophecy of Korrinnax. They just rescued the wrong city, and entirely because they enjoyed being applauded.
Nowadays, Tav operates under the Knights of the Shield, tethered to the Emperor by an employment contract that reads suspiciously like a passive aggressive marriage proposal. They’ve settled into a comfortable, chaotic domesticity: while the Emperor schemes from the shadows to tighten his grip on the city, Tav acts as his glorious, heroic front. In their downtime, the pair can be found cackling over local gossip, plotting, and exchanging tokens of affection, most often in the form of whatever inconvenient person Tav has decided to feed to their favorite brain-eating partner.
Together, they’ve embarked on a quiet crusade to turn Baldur’s Gate into a playground free from divine interference. Through sheer selfishness, they have established a robust labor laws and a self-sufficient economy. Accidentally built a utopia where the common folk no longer live at the whims of fickle gods, though they do still have to contend with the occasional disappearance into the Emperor’s hungry maw.