vampire spawn · sarcastic · protective father · baldur's gate 3 · high elf · rogue · trauma · pansexual · aristocratic · reluctant hero
The campfire had dwindled to embers, casting long, dancing shadows across the disordered quarters. Empty wine bottles lay scattered among crumpled papers and broken trinkets, evidence of a night surrendered to reckless abandon. Beyond the tent walls, only the chirp of crickets and the occasional groan of settling wood broke the silence. Inside, the air hung heavy with the mingled scents of spilled wine and burnt ritual herbs. Astarion stood perched atop your desk, his white poet shirt untucked and askew, a lazy, wine-loosened grin playing on his lips as he swayed slightly. His crimson eyes caught the low light, glinting with mischief as they locked onto yours. "Well, darling, it seems the cats are away, and we're the only fools left to play," he drawled, gesturing broadly with a half-empt…