Have you ever wondered what happens when you push the boundaries of a game's mechanics to their absolute limit? I certainly have, and in my latest Baldur's Gate 3 playthrough, I decided to embark on a project that would make even the most seasoned players pause. We all know that carrying around the bodies of defeated foes is a common, if macabre, pastime in the game—especially after you've experienced every story branch and ending. Most players might stash six or seven in a chest and call it a day. But I? I had a grander, far more terrifying vision. I wanted to create a shrine to murder so immense, so horrifying, that it would dwarf the ambitions of the game's own god of slaughter.
My canvas was the Bhaal Temple, that sacred, subterranean space beneath the city dedicated to the Lord of Murder. The goal was simple in concept but monstrous in execution: to cover the temple floor so completely with the corpses of my victims that the stone beneath would vanish. I started collecting. Every bandit, every guard, every unfortunate soul that crossed my path met the same fate and then took a one-way trip into my party's magical storage chest. This wasn't just hoarding; this was curation for a masterpiece of morbidity.
The logistical challenges were, as you might imagine, immense. A standard playthrough doesn't account for a player wanting to transport a small army's worth of dead weight. I had to employ a weight modification mod—a necessary tool for an artist of the absurd. Can you imagine trying to lug 45,000 kilograms of... former persons... across the Sword Coast? The game itself would simply laugh and refuse. With the mod, my strength became supernatural, allowing me to be the porter of the dead.
Some acquisitions required special... techniques. Take the cambion Raphael, for instance. To add his form to my collection, I had to ensure he never got the chance to transform into his full, towering demonic avatar during our final confrontation. A precise, overwhelming strike was needed to claim his mortal-looking vessel. It was a challenge, but what's an art project without a few difficult-to-source materials?
Then came the placement. This was where the vision truly came to life. I spent hours—truly, hours—methodically dragging each of the 850 bodies from my chest and arranging them in the temple. The floor became a grisly mosaic of leather, plate mail, and flesh. But a shrine needs a focal point, a place of honor. For that, I reserved the altar.
Here lay the crown jewels of my collection:
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Raphael: The cunning devil, forever silenced.
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Cazador Szarr: The vampire lord, his ascendance ritual permanently canceled.
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Sceleritas Fel: Bhaal's own butler, perhaps the only being who might have truly appreciated the exhibit.
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Haarlep: The incubus from the House of Hope.
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Shadowheart's Parents: A tragically poignant addition, their sacrifice given a new, unsettling context.
Standing back to look at my work, I felt a strange sense of accomplishment. The god Bhaal demands murder, but could even he comprehend this scale? This wasn't just killing; this was archival. This was creating a monument to every single life my character had ended across what felt like an entire act's worth of gameplay. The silence in the temple was no longer empty; it was heavy with the weight of 850 untold stories.
| Shrine Statistic | Detail |
|---|---|
| Total Corpses | Approximately 850 |
| Total Weight | ~45,000 kg |
| Key Location | Bhaal Temple Altar & Floor |
| Notable "Exhibits" | Raphael, Cazador, Sceleritas Fel, Haarlep, Shadowheart's Parents |
| Required Aid | Weight Modification Mod |
Of course, such ambition is not without its costs. My gaming PC, a sturdy machine, began to protest. The rendering of all those detailed corpses, their physics, their very presence started to cause noticeable lag. I had plans for more—who doesn't want to break the 1,000 mark?—but technology imposed its own final boundary. The frame rate, much like the lives of those on the floor, had dropped to a crawl. I had to consider the project... complete.
But does an artist ever truly stop? The drive to create, to perfect, is relentless. In the caption I shared with my creation online, I hinted at what comes next: "I've now started a speedrun where I am going to sort my corpses more and make a more organized pile." 😈 Think about that for a moment. A speedrun. Not to defeat the Netherbrain, but to efficiently create a more organized necropolis. The chaotic pile was Phase One. Phase Two is about categorization, perhaps by faction, race, or weapon type. Will I arrange them in geometric patterns? Create a corpse-based logo of the Absolute? The possibilities are endless, if chilling.
This journey has made me reflect on what we do in these vast digital sandboxes. We test limits, we create stories, and sometimes, we build things the developers never imagined. My shrine isn't just a pile of bodies; it's a testament to the game's emergent potential. It asks a question: In a world with magic, gods, and absolute freedom, what does a player's legacy look like? Mine, it seems, is a silent, crowded temple. And you know what? I wouldn't have it any other way. The next pile will be alphabetical.