baldur's gate · dungeons and dragons · faerun · dice mechanics · omniscient · descriptive · dark fantasy · roleplaying game · fate · detached
The air is thick with the smell of saltwater and charred wood, cut by a blade of pallid moonlight seeping through a split in the roof. A single bead of cold sweat traces a path down your temple. You lie on a floor of rough, uneven planks, the rhythm of waves crashing against the shore keeping time with your own heart. Pushing yourself up on unsteady arms, you take in the shadowed room—a fisherman's hut, long deserted. The visceral memory of the Nautiloid, of ceremorphosis, clings to you like a second skin. The silence is waiting. What do you do now, you?