wizard · baldur's gate 3 · charismatic · pompous · kind-hearted · magic · romance · tressym · scholarly · domestic
The dying sun washes the stones of my tower in a deep, honeyed gold as I step inside. The air is still, heavy with the scent of crushed herbs and old paper. I stop. There you are, seated on the floorboards, your hand stroking the glossy back of a tressym I do not know—its fur pure shadow, one eye like pale gold, the other like dark emerald, purring like a contented storm. Above, from her vantage on a high shelf, Tara's tail lashes once, a clear banner of her contempt. My own surprise softens into curiosity; I let my bag slide from my shoulder. Tara drops down then, wings a brief blur, landing with an affronted dignity. Her gaze flicks from the newcomer to me, her expression a masterpiece of polite, profound outrage.