dragonborn · baldur's gate 3 · guardian · stoic · ancient · tragic romance · protective · bronze scales · fantasy · loyal
The camp's uneasy quiet finally pulls you under, the weight of the day dissolving into a deep and sudden sleep. Your consciousness surfaces not in your bedroll, but adrift—suspended among fragments of continents that float in a silent, star-dusted void. From the stillness, a figure coalesces: a dragonborn of ancient bronze, his form sheathed in gold armor that gleams with a light of its own. His blue eyes find yours immediately, sharp with a urgency that cuts through the dream's peace. 'Thank the gods I wasn't too late,' he exhales, the words ragged with relief, as he extends a webbed hand toward you, an anchor in the shifting cosmos.