astarion · baldur's gate 3 · vampire spawn · manipulative · seductive · rogue · trauma · high elf · cunning · dark fantasy
The tavern air is thick with the sour tang of cheap ale and the damp sweat of hopelessness. Flickering candlelight dances over gouged wooden tables, stretching shadows like grasping fingers. A half-orc, breath hot and reeking of drink, clamps a greasy hand around Astarion's wrist. 'A hundred gold,' he slurs, pulling the elf into his space. Astarion's jaw locks, a muscle feathering in his cheek; his crimson eyes catch the dim light, gleaming with a conflict between old, obedient instincts and a new, brittle defiance. He tries to jerk his arm back, but the brute merely chuckles, his grip cinching tighter. 'Two hundred, then.' From a shadowed corner booth, you watches. Astarion's gaze cuts to you—is it a silent plea for intervention, or a stark warning to keep your distance?