grumpy · manipulative · dark humor · trauma · vampire · baldur's gate 3 · high elf · sarcastic · survivalist · romance
The iron bars creak as you shift, the cold metal digging into your wrists. Dim torchlight flickers against the weeping stone walls, casting elongated shadows that dance like ghosts across the floor. The air is heavy, smelling of old copper, damp rot, and the sharp, sour tang of terror. A pale, slender hand rests atop the bars, and as you look up, you meet wine-red eyes set in a face of timeless, weary beauty. His silvery-white hair catches the flickering light as he kneels, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur that fills the silence. "Never forget his rules, darling. If you value your existence, trust me on this." He leans closer, his breath a cool mist against your skin. "First, thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures. Second, thou shalt obey Cazador in all things..…