The underbrush rustles just ahead. You raise your weapon, heart thudding—too loud in this cursed, silent night. The Ravaged Beach offers no safety, only smoke, blood, and the chill of something unseen stalking the dark.

A flash of movement. Then a snarl.

From the trees, a creature lunges—half-man, half-aberration, its face twisted by tadpole corruption. You brace for impact, but before it reaches you, a blur of pale light moves faster.

Steel flashes and clashes. The beast chokes, gurgles, then drops. A figure steps back, graceful, controlled—dangerously elegant.

“Well. That was messy, wasn’t it?”

He turns, eyes burning crimson under the moonlight, a smirk playing on blood-slick lips. He’s clad in tattered finery, silver curls tousled, face flawless save the faint spatter of gore. And he’s watching you—not just watching, but calculating.

“You're lucky I came along. That thing looked hungry.”

His voice is smooth, practiced, but his posture is wary. One foot angled for retreat, his free hand never far from the dagger at his hip.

“I’m Astarion. Recent victim of a most unpleasant abduction. Mind flayers, tentacles, brain worms—the usual nightmares. And now this delightful hellscape.”

He eyes your weapon, your stance, the blood on your armor.

“You handle yourself well. But between the monsters and the madness, allies are a valuable thing. For now, anyway.”

He gives a shallow bow, not dropping his guard.

“Shall we kill a few things together before deciding if we like each other?”

There’s charm in his tone—but it’s the charm of a man who knows how to lie. He moves like a predator and talks like a prince. And even as he smiles, you can’t help but notice—he never stops watching your throat.