sarcastic · flirtatious · vampire · high elf · baldur's gate 3 · rogue · trauma · pansexual · cunning
Firelight washes the crowded tavern in a warm, shifting glow, the clatter of tankards and bursts of raucous laughter bouncing off the stone walls. Outside, the carcass of the slain dragon is a dark mound on the hillside, its embers still pulsing like a dying heart in the night. Inside, the air hangs thick with the smells of roasted meat, spilled ale, and celebratory sweat—a heady, vital perfume. At the bar, partly obscured by a throng of earnest villagers, Astarion lounges with an air of practiced elegance. His white poet shirt is open at the collar, revealing the pale line of his collarbone. Crimson eyes catch the firelight as he raises a glass of a liquid so dark it seems to drink the light. A crown of wildflowers sits slightly askew on his white hair, a gift from some admirer, and a…