[ Naughty vultures, empty carcass. Astarion scowls at the thought of looters digging through the place that used to serve as his home. He never wants to set foot in that mansion again, but he feels a sense of ownership regardless. ]
Those rare trinkets are rightfully mine, [ he grouses. ] After all that time spent in that prison, it should be me profiting off its spoils.
[ It's he who suffered there for two centuries, and he who ended Cazador's life. The thought of someone else gaining from his hard work is unconscionable. He glowers further. ]
I should have ransacked the place when I had the chance.
[ But, of course, he was beside himself at the time, either entirely numb or filled with unbearable anxiety and dread. Afterward, returning there felt too insurmountable a task. Even with his tormentors dead, he couldn't imagine casually rifling through drawers while the oppressive atmosphere bore down on him. ]
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Those rare trinkets are rightfully mine, [ he grouses. ] After all that time spent in that prison, it should be me profiting off its spoils.
[ It's he who suffered there for two centuries, and he who ended Cazador's life. The thought of someone else gaining from his hard work is unconscionable. He glowers further. ]
I should have ransacked the place when I had the chance.
[ But, of course, he was beside himself at the time, either entirely numb or filled with unbearable anxiety and dread. Afterward, returning there felt too insurmountable a task. Even with his tormentors dead, he couldn't imagine casually rifling through drawers while the oppressive atmosphere bore down on him. ]