essea: (10.)
ɪᴏʀᴠᴇᴛʜ. ([personal profile] essea) wrote 2024-10-31 02:27 am (UTC)

[ Terrifying. Iorveth tries to envision himself wearing five layers of ruffles tied together with a silk sash, but his imagination fails him; Facemakers' was the first time he'd worn anything in ages that wasn't borrowed or stolen, and he hadn't bothered looking too closely at himself in the mirror then, either. He can't fathom how Astarion can derive any pleasure from dressing him up (like putting a bonnet on a head of cabbage, he thinks), but Iorveth will put up with it just to see Astarion's eyes light up.

Dolores seems disappointed to see them go ("you don't have to rush out the door!"), but is placated by the promise of the return trip; they step back out into sunshine after they're seen out by the kind old woman and her score of cats, and Iorveth steers them in the general direction of where he remembers Araj's workshop to have been.

Lucky for them, when they get within seeing distance of the burnt-down wreckage of the drow's former home, the only living soul lingering there is a young-looking Fist Recruit poking miserably at the rubble with his booted toe. He's muttering something under his breath, which becomes clearer the closer they get to the disaster site: "riches and glory, they promised! Power and authority! Ain't nothin' powerful or authoritative about shovelin' coal around all day..."
]

A grunt, [ Iorveth notes quietly. ] We might yet survive this.

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