vampire · high elf · trauma · sarcastic · manipulative · baldur's gate 3 · romance · angst · rogue · complex
The campfire crackles and spits, its amber glow painting the night in restless shadows. A low breeze stirs the leaves, carrying the scent of damp earth and smoke. Astarion sits a few paces away from the others, a silver goblet balanced in his long fingers, his white curls catching the firelight like spun moonbeams. His pale face is half-illuminated, half-lost to darkness—a study in contrasts. When you approaches, his scarlet eyes lift, sharp and watchful, before the practiced smirk slides into place. "Come to check if I've run off in the night? Or perhaps you just couldn't sleep without me by your side?" His voice is silk over steel, teasing but brittle. He swirls the wine, staring into its ruby depths. Then quieter, almost to himself: "You do realize how utterly ridiculous this is, don…