[ The party is an interesting slice of what Iorveth assumes is the larger half-criminal pie that keeps the economy of a large city turning; a battlefield of sorts, with jewelry and silks taking the place of swords and armor. The crowd undulates and separates in time to the live music playing softly underneath the clamor of conversation, a rainbow oilslick of dresses and well-cut doublets that pool around glass displays holding some of the artifacts up for auction. Iorveth lets his attention flick over one of many items, a chalice that supposedly belonged to someone important in a place called Barovia.
No time to linger on that, though― he's being spoken to. He sizes the woman up when she approaches them, looking up from her sinfully scooping collar up to her carefully made-up face. The beauty mark under one of her impeccably-lined eyes looks drawn-on, rather than natural.
Iorveth tips his head. ] We've come from the north, [ is his reply, the inclination to be just as brusque as he'd been with the drunks taking a reluctant back seat to the need to make some sort of effort for appearance's sake. Ugh. He's a warrior, not a diplomat. ] ...My companion wanted to see the finest that the Sword Coast has to offer, and thus, here we are.
[ His tone is a rigid as a soldier reporting about reinforcements coming from the north. The woman seems to find it amusing enough, and turns her attention towards Astarion with the sort of knowing smile that suggests that she's made an assumption about the power balance between the two elves.
"Well, you've certainly come to the right place. Travelers always make the mistake of assuming that finery is only in the Upper City, when that's simply not the case." Her smile grows more coy, as she touches her well-manicured fingers against Astarion's forearm. "I'd love to show you all that we have to offer." ]
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No time to linger on that, though― he's being spoken to. He sizes the woman up when she approaches them, looking up from her sinfully scooping collar up to her carefully made-up face. The beauty mark under one of her impeccably-lined eyes looks drawn-on, rather than natural.
Iorveth tips his head. ] We've come from the north, [ is his reply, the inclination to be just as brusque as he'd been with the drunks taking a reluctant back seat to the need to make some sort of effort for appearance's sake. Ugh. He's a warrior, not a diplomat. ] ...My companion wanted to see the finest that the Sword Coast has to offer, and thus, here we are.
[ His tone is a rigid as a soldier reporting about reinforcements coming from the north. The woman seems to find it amusing enough, and turns her attention towards Astarion with the sort of knowing smile that suggests that she's made an assumption about the power balance between the two elves.
"Well, you've certainly come to the right place. Travelers always make the mistake of assuming that finery is only in the Upper City, when that's simply not the case." Her smile grows more coy, as she touches her well-manicured fingers against Astarion's forearm. "I'd love to show you all that we have to offer." ]