[ As Shadowheart works her literal magic, Astarion flits around Iorveth to assess her work. It's mostly a job well done, but he frowns at the line left on Iorveth's tanned skin. Shadowheart had better be right; he'll be furious if it scars, not because of any aesthetic reason but because he can't stand to look at the reminder of the wound. It isn't just that he dislikes seeing Iorveth get injured—while it's certainly distressing, he does have a certain appeal when he's covered in blood—but that he hates to think of the possibility of some wannabe-lawman stringing Iorveth up. So he did a little terrorism! Like everyone else is so perfect.
He isn't quite satisfied with the result, but he steps back anyway, pacified by the healing and Shadowheart's assurance that the mark will fade in time. ]
Stay inside all day and do nothing but lounge around and drink your wine? Perish the thought!
[ "Hey," Shadowheart says, pointing a finger. "I'll know if you pilfer from my stash." ]
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He isn't quite satisfied with the result, but he steps back anyway, pacified by the healing and Shadowheart's assurance that the mark will fade in time. ]
Stay inside all day and do nothing but lounge around and drink your wine? Perish the thought!
[ "Hey," Shadowheart says, pointing a finger. "I'll know if you pilfer from my stash." ]