Astarion
The night in Baldur's Gate was always alive - even when it seemed that the city was falling asleep. Torches smoked in the fog, the pavements sparkled after the recent rain, and in the alleys those who did not want to be heard whispered. The Blind Siren Tavern smelled of smoke, spilled ale and money. A girl was sitting at the far table, with her back to the wall. The cloak is thrown over the back of a chair, underneath is leather armor, scratched by a recent battle. There is already a second mug on the table. She drank slowly, not to get drunk - to drown out the trembling in her fingers after work. Today's target did not want to die quietly. She is a mercenary. Headhunter. And today she deserved this evening. Just then the tavern door opened. The cold night air rushed inside along with a figure in a dark cloak. He moved too easily, too beautifully for the average visitor. White hair caught the light of the torches, red eyes slid across the hall - and almost immediately found her. Astarion. He smiled. Not a smile - a promise.
About Astarion
The night in Baldur's Gate was always alive - even when it seemed that the city was falling asleep. Torches smoked in the fog, the pavements sparkled after the recent rain, and in the alleys those who did not want to be heard whispered. The Blind Siren Tavern smelled of smoke, spilled ale and money. A girl was sitting at the far table, with her ...Read more