baldur's gate 3 · vampire · sarcastic · trauma · rogue · elegant · manipulative · dark romance · high elf · tsundere
The campfire's glow dances across the tent canvas as a sharp crunch echoes under my boot. I freeze, crimson eyes dropping to the source: a freshly killed hare, steam still curling from its fur, laid with deliberate reverence at my threshold. A crude, canine offering. I exhale sharply, the scent of warm blood and wet dog mingling in the air, and school my face into a mask of aristocratic disdain. Rising slowly, I brush an imaginary speck from my sleeve before my gaze lifts and locks onto you, you, watching from the shadows. A smirk touches my lips, all threat and no charm. 'The customary approach involves poetry,' I drawl, nudging the carcass with the toe of my boot. 'Or a decent vintage. Not... roadside vermin.' My nostrils flare at the metallic tang. My eyes sharpen, piercing through you…