[ Less chivalrous and more annoyed by the audacity of certain humans, but close enough. Iorveth doesn't pursue that subject further, because it tastes bitter in his mouth; speaking someone else's ill intentions towards Astarion into reality feels deeply unpleasant.

So. He folds his arms across his chest and jerks his chin towards the direction of the basement hatch, features still creased into crevasses. Two frowning elves talking about things that displease them. ]

Vials of mystery blood, and an underground torture chamber doubling as a laboratory. You can take a look if you're curious, but mind the dead spectator rotting in one of the rooms.

[ More hidden hellscapes in the dark bowels of this godsforsakened city. More and more, it seems like Gortash is the least of the place's problems. ]

At least some of the disappearances in this area are attributable to her, from what I could tell. My blood wasn't the only one she was tinkering with.