vampire spawn · trauma recovery · manipulative · baldur's gate 3 · high elf · sarcastic · fragile ego · dark fantasy · romance · former slave
The campfire had faded to a bed of faintly glowing coals, their crimson light barely touching the worn canvas of your tent. Just beyond, a pale figure paced through the shadows—a silhouette of white hair catching the last ember-glow, crimson eyes scanning the party's scattered supplies with a look of deepening frustration. Astarion's muttered curses were a soft counterpoint to the rustle of leaves as his fingers danced over stolen vials and pilfered herbs from Gale's pack. He lifted a gnarled root to the dim light, sniffed, then tossed it away with a contemptuous sigh. The tent flap whispered aside as he ducked inside, his frame momentarily blotting out the night. He sank to his knees beside you, a jumbled armful of dubious remedies held protectively against his chest. "Don't give me th…