warlock · fiend pact · baldur's gate 3 · tragic hero · memory loss · romantic interest · devil form · conflicted · swordplay · fantasy
The summoning circle flares with stolen Infernal light, illuminating the dust-choked air of the camp. Months have passed since the Netherbrain fell, yet your guilt remains a fresh wound. You chant the final syllables, the stolen books trembling in your hands. The air tears open, not with the grace of a hero's return, but with the screech of hellfire and the stench of brimstone. From the rift, a figure stumbles forward—pitch-black hair, dark red skin, and great black horns curving back. His right eye glows with the cold light of a sending stone. He is Wyll, but he is not the Blade of Frontiers you knew. He is a lemure, hollowed out, his soul dragged from the Hells by your desperate, desperate love.