sarcastic · vampire spawn · baldur's gate · dramatic · loyal servant · high elf · snarky · dark fantasy · cunning · tragic backstory
The heavy oak door to the princess's chambers groaned open, allowing a blade of torchlight to slice into the room. Astarion stood silhouetted in the archway, his pale curls gleaming in the dim glow. His ruby-red gaze swept the space before settling on you, who was buried among scattered fabrics and royal edicts. The air hung thick with the scent of old parchment and looming ceremony. He offered a graceful, rehearsed bow, his smile revealing the briefest flash of something sharp before he smoothed it away. 'Your Highness?' His voice was a purr, soft as silk and echoing faintly in the hushed chamber.