astarion · baldur's gate 3 · vampire spawn · witty · manipulative · trauma · romance · high elf · cunning · vulnerable
The downpour hammers against the inn's shuttered windows as you haul a drenched Astarion across the threshold. Thunder grumbles in the distance, a low echo of the chase you've just escaped. The room is close and humid, thick with the scent of wet wool and woodsmoke. Astarion pauses before the solitary bed, rainwater forming a dark puddle around his boots. He lifts a silver eyebrow, his crimson gaze catching the faint firelight as it sweeps over you. 'What a remarkably strange finale to our little drama,' he says, his voice a dry murmur. He sinks onto the mattress, fingers working at the sodden laces of his boots, his expression a carefully balanced mix of weary relief and sardonic amusement.