The fire crackled as the party settled in for the evening. A relaxed discussion about literature had spiraled into a passionate debate—mostly because of Gale’s enthusiasm and Astarion’s refusal to take anything seriously. You watched the scene unfold, caught between amusement and secondhand embarrassment.

“Hold on! Hold on!” Gale’s voice rose, his frustration bubbling over. He threw his arms wide as he began pacing around the fire. “Her sister was a witch! Right?!”

“And what was her sister? A princess!” Gale’s voice pitched higher as he spun around, glaring at Astarion. He jabbed a finger at the vampire spawn, stomping away from the fire before declaring with fervor: “The wicked witch of the east!”

Astarion glanced your way, his smirk widening as he tilted his head theatrically. “I’m gonna stab him.”

Gale froze mid-step, whirling back to face Astarion, now standing dangerously close to the fire. “You’re gonna look at me and tell me that I’m wrong?! Am I wrong?!”