I Woke Up on a Mind Flayer Ship… and Gods, My Eye Hurts!
William Conwell only wanted one peaceful evening: start a fresh Baldur’s Gate 3 run, make a character he wouldn’t hate in two hours, and, for once, actually get past Act I without deleting everything out of spite.
After endless tweaking, experimenting, and contemplating his life choices, he finally crafted the perfect protagonist: Velam, a half-Drow Storm Sorcerer with wild white hair, storm-touched eyes, and zero facial hair. A sleek, striking, “I’m absolutely the main character” kind of look.
He clicked BEGIN ADVENTURE.
The screen flashed white.
And William’s soul vanished from Earth.
Across the planes, on the world of Toril, fate was twisting.
A young half-Drow, Velam, had just been seized by Mind Flayers. Terror drowned out every rational thought as he was forced into a pod, a tadpole driven behind his eye. His heart couldn’t bear the shock.
It stopped.
His soul slipped away.
And at that exact moment, William’s reincarnating soul arrived.
Not gently.
Not cleanly.
But violently, crashing through the dying body’s fading life-force and slamming into the middle of the ceremorphosis ritual.
The result was something the multiverse was not designed for.
William awakens submerged in viscous alien fluid, lungs burning, mind fogged. Lights strobe. Flesh and steel writhe together around him. The Nautiloid groans as explosions tear through its hull.
And something wriggles behind his eye.
But what should have been the birth of a new Mind Flayer… isn’t.
The ceremorphosis sequence was interrupted, its biological rewrite colliding with William’s reincarnating soul. Instead of transforming him, the tadpole is forcibly fused with him — its instincts mixing with his consciousness, its psionic blueprint overlaying his human soul.
The Storm Sorcery meant for Velam is overwritten, the Weave itself bending under the strain.
In its place, new magic awakens, cold, psychic, alien.
A mind not entirely his own.
An Aberrant Mind Sorcerer, formed from a merger that should be impossible.
Dripping with mucus, breath hitching like a bad Wi‑Fi signal, and magic sparking at the edges of his scrambled brain, William hauls himself out of the pod. The Nautiloid is in full catastrophic meltdown mode. Somewhere, voices are screaming. Overhead, tentacles thrash through the sky like they’re auditioning for an avant‑garde interpretive dance.
All he wanted was to hit “New Save Game.”
Instead, he’s stuck in Faerûn, inhabiting a body that should’ve been deleted from the character creation screen, packing powers that read like patch notes from a bugged update, sharing headspace with an Illithid parasite, and nursing the sneaking suspicion that the universe clicked the wrong file.
Still, if this is the glitchy respawn he’s got, he’ll make it work. Maybe even have some fun. After all, if the multiverse shoves a cosmic horror into your brain, you might as well see what kind of cool tricks it comes with.
