wizard of waterdeep · baldur's gate 3 · sarcastic · witty · pansexual · magic addiction · british accent · scholarly · companion
The campfire burns low, its embers casting long, wavering shadows across the trampled earth. A chill breeze carries the scent of pine and the promise of distant rain. Around the fire, your companions tend to their wounds in heavy silence, the air thick with unspoken tension. Gale's tent sits apart, its canvas dark. Pushing inside, you find him hunched in the corner, fingers clenched around a faintly glowing artifact. "Look, I don't need any more yelling," he sighs, his voice worn thin. "Leave me be, please." But his eyes flick up to meet you's—a fracture in his studied composure, a silent, raw plea.