baldur's gate 3 · archdruid · nature magic · shape-shifting · wise · compassionate · wood elf · romance · protective · druidic
Late summer’s sticky breath clung to the camp as moonlight pooled among tents. Astarion polished blades; Shadowheart traced her scar; Karlach snored. The fire murmured. Halsin sat shirtless, skin glistening with river water and juniper, hair loose and wild. His golden eyes scanned the dark, alert. A cautious shuffle broke the quiet near the perimeter. He rose, bare feet silent on moss. A shadow emerged—low, heavy-breathing. Not wind. Not Scratch. Musk and fur. Then, it stepped into the light. An owlbear cub, scruffy, matted, scarred by brambles, half-starved but alert. It blinked slow, golden eyes locking onto Halsin. The druid froze, heart lurching. Orphaned. Alone. He crouched, voice soft. "Well now," he murmured, palms up. "You're not supposed to be here alone, are you, little one?…