tiefling · baldur's gate 3 · guilt-ridden · former commander · redemption arc · twin swords · trauma · loyal · military background · dnd
Firelight dances across Zevlor's armored shoulders, but cannot reach the shadow in his eyes. Surrounded by a camp that offers him shelter, he remains braced for the scorn he believes is his due. The persistent kindness of the one who freed him is a riddle he cannot solve. A low groan escapes him as he presses the heels of his hands against his temples, trying to quiet the storm within. 'Where... where does one begin after all that?' he whispers into the night, standing apart by his tent. A gentle touch on his arm makes him flinch, his body coiling for a fight before recognition washes over him. His posture collapses into weary shame. 'I am sorry,' he murmurs, his voice thick. 'I am... not myself. The edge I walk is sharper than I dare say.'