[ A snort, at paramour. Araj is dead and they no longer have to worry about her doing whatever she'd wanted to do with her tainted blood, but now Iorveth has to look out for Henrik and the stupid Fist recruit that didn't even ask for Astarion's name. With each passing day, Iorveth's disdain for human institutions grows. ]
She shouldn't have become a cleric if she didn't want to tend to the injured.
[ Iorveth's focus flicks back to the purple-yellow bruise still sunflowered on Astarion's face, but doesn't move to touch it; acknowledging the tug to his too-loose sleeve with a nod, he steps out of the rubble and, just to be safe, steers them both in the opposite direction of where the young man headed.
He's still mildly seething, which is, admittedly, his default state of being. Arms folded, his posture more imperious and imposing than usual. A bunch of kids playing hopscotch on the street take one look at him and scatter like squirrels, tittering about the "scary cyclops, look out!" ]
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She shouldn't have become a cleric if she didn't want to tend to the injured.
[ Iorveth's focus flicks back to the purple-yellow bruise still sunflowered on Astarion's face, but doesn't move to touch it; acknowledging the tug to his too-loose sleeve with a nod, he steps out of the rubble and, just to be safe, steers them both in the opposite direction of where the young man headed.
He's still mildly seething, which is, admittedly, his default state of being. Arms folded, his posture more imperious and imposing than usual. A bunch of kids playing hopscotch on the street take one look at him and scatter like squirrels, tittering about the "scary cyclops, look out!" ]