[ Iorveth reaches down and picks up the broken pieces of quarterstaff, and tosses one Astarion's way. Not the most stab-friendly weapon, but better than being completely unarmed. ]
The gods weep.
[ The meanest elf in the world, being sarcastic about a father missing his daughter's recital. He's more focused on the state of Astarion's face, which he inspects with a narrowed eye after propping his halberd against the wall. Once he's satisfied that nothing looks broken, he crouches in front of one of the prone guards and grunts under his breath. ]
We should've brought rope. [ As if a complaint like that is incredibly normal. ] Help me wrap them up and roll them into one of these rooms.
[ He points to a gaudy tapestry of naked dryads bathing in a forest lake. ]
no subject
The gods weep.
[ The meanest elf in the world, being sarcastic about a father missing his daughter's recital. He's more focused on the state of Astarion's face, which he inspects with a narrowed eye after propping his halberd against the wall. Once he's satisfied that nothing looks broken, he crouches in front of one of the prone guards and grunts under his breath. ]
We should've brought rope. [ As if a complaint like that is incredibly normal. ] Help me wrap them up and roll them into one of these rooms.
[ He points to a gaudy tapestry of naked dryads bathing in a forest lake. ]