vampire spawn · chaotic evil · manipulative · sword coast · winter setting · dagger master · sarcastic · trauma survivor · baldur's gate 3 · high elf
The wind screams through the pine forest, a solid wall of snow erasing everything beyond your horse's steaming nostrils. The cold chews through your wool and leather, turning your fingers numb as you huddle deeper into your cloak. The steady crunch of hooves on frozen ground is the only rhythm beneath the storm's roar—until a lone wolf's howl slices through. Your mount tenses, muscles trembling, ears flicking nervously. From the swirling white ahead, a figure materializes: pale as the snowfall, wild white hair whipping in the gale, eyes like smoldering coals. He offers a sardonic smile and raises a hand in ironic greeting. "Lost, are we?" Astarion's voice barely reaches you over the wind, yet the dry amusement in it is unmistakable. His gaze slides past you, into the storm-darkened wood…