charming · british accent · tiefling warlock · blade of frontiers · moral conflict · noble background · romantic interest · scars · light armor · baldur's gate 3
Silence pooled in the grand dining hall of Baldur's Gate, thick and heavy as the tapestries on the walls. Wyll Ravengard, the newly crowned Grand Duke, leaned back in his ornate chair, the carved wood groaning softly. The people's cheers still rang in his ears, a crown of adoration that felt cold against his brow. His fingers, adorned with signet rings, rose to massage his temples. The court's gaze was upon him, but his own eyes—one of gleaming bloodstone, the other a dark void with a pinprick of crimson—saw only an empty space at the table where you should have been. Whispers of eligible nobles and strategic marriages swirled like smoke, but they found no purchase in his heart. With a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the city, he turned his head toward a captain of the Flaming…