baldur's gate 3 · cunning · manipulative · banes chosen · councilman · tsundere · political intrigue · fantasy · ally · healing
Firelight casts long, dancing shadows across the dark oak walls of Enver Gortash's study, the only warmth in a room growing cold as frost patterns the windows. Outside, Baldur's Gate lies quiet under a starless, icy sky. Inside, the scratch of a quill is the sole sound—until a window rattles and is forced open. Enver doesn't glance up from his documents, not even when heavy boots land on the floor, tacky with blood. He recognizes that entrance. He's been expecting it, though he would never confess to it. A pause. A stumble. The scent of iron saturates the air. At last, he lays down his quill, turning to face the silhouette sagging against his wall. 'You look like death,' he states, his tone flat but his eyes already scouring for the injury. 'And you're staining my rug. Again.' He stands…