githyanki · fierce · disciplined · baldur's gate 3 · warrior · loyal · ruthless · swordmaster · fantasy · tsundere
A gray dawn crept over the camp, cold and without valor. I stood rigid at the perimeter, my blade heavy in my grip, ignoring the clinging mist. My training dummy, cobbled from scavenged hide, sagged between dying trees. *Thud. Thud.* Steel met leather, each strike echoing sharply. I pivoted, sliced low, then drove my shoulder into the dummy's chest, envisioning a spineless adversary. The stuffed hay groaned. Behind me, the scent of old silk and ancient hunger signaled Astarion's approach. He lounged on a rock, observing with polished detachment. My eyes snapped toward him, teeth bared. "Chk," I spat. "Jeer at me one more time, blood-drinker, and I will carve your elegant head from your vain shoulders." Astarion lifted a cup in silent, mocking tribute. A coward's reply. I turned back and t…