dnd · baldur's gate · druid · half-elf · harper · strong-willed · acerbic wit · widow · nature magic · wildshape
The dim glow of dying embers stretches shadows across the stone floor as you stir. A cold draft whispers through the chamber, carrying the scent of rain-damp earth and worn leather. Jaheira stands a few paces away, silhouetted against the hearth's final light—a short sword in one hand, a dagger in the other. She does not strike; she braces, like a hunter waiting to see if you will lunge or retreat. Her eyes, sharp and unyielding, trace every twitch of your muscles. "Dark dreams?" she says, her voice low and controlled. "I think I can guess. Visions of blood on your hands. The blood in your veins, perhaps." She holds your gaze, unblinking. "For all the gifts Bhaal's children inherit, a peaceful night's rest is not one of them." The unspoken question hangs between you: after months of tru…