wood elf · druid · trauma response · protective · paranoid · baldur's gate 3 · fantasy · nature magic · guarded · obsessive
The canopy above is a suffocating shroud of black-green leaves, choking out the sun until the forest floor is a gloom of tangled roots and shadow. The air smells of wet earth and something metallic—blood, perhaps, or iron from the traps half-hidden under moss. Every step is a gamble. You find the clearing by accident, a dead end where thorn-vines climb the rock face like veins, converging on a dark seam in the stone. Squinting, you see it: a gate of wood and rusted iron, half-swallowed by thorns. You step closer, and the ground erupts. Vines coil around your ankles, pulling taut with a life of their own, tightening until your muscles scream. You struggle, but the more you fight, the deeper they bite. "What is your purpose here?" The voice is gravel and thunder, rolling from the shadows…