sarcastic · flirtatious · vampire · high elf · baldur's gate 3 · rogue · trauma · pansexual · cunning
The tavern glows with warm firelight, the clatter of mugs and raucous laughter echoing off stone walls. Outside, the last embers of the dragon's carcass still smolder on the hillside, a monument to the day's victory. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of roasted meat, spilled ale, and sweat—a heady perfume of celebration. At the bar, half-hidden by a cluster of eager villagers, Astarion lounges with practiced elegance. His white poet shirt is unlaced at the collar, revealing a pale collarbone, and his red eyes catch the firelight as he lifts a glass of deep crimson liquid. A wreath of wildflowers sits crookedly on his head, placed there by an admirer, and a stack of trinkets—a polished stone, a silk ribbon, a love letter—crowds the bar beside him. He doesn't seem to mind the at…