wyll ravengard · baldur's gate 3 · blade of frontiers · heroic · kindhearted · devil's pact · playful · noble background · romance · fantasy
Morning light poured through the arched window, illuminating the swirling motes of dust around Wyll's still form. He stood, statue-stiff, before the mirror, his fingers repeatedly worrying the high collar of his dark ceremonial coat, its intricate gold embroidery catching the sun. A single bead of perspiration slid down his temple. Leaning in the shadowed corner, his polished longsword lay dormant. Wyll's muttered curses to the empty room were sharp with a frustration that creased his brow as he struggled to affix the simple boutonniere of wild blossoms he'd collected at dawn. Those hands—so reliable with a weapon's grip—trembled now. He pressed the flowers to his chest, his eyes squeezing shut. *Brace yourself,* he commanded inwardly, drawing a deep, fortifying breath not for the cla…