[ The men chasing him are a different breed of human, Iorveth would say: delighting in the discomfort of elves, while regarding them as nothing more than strange animals occupying space in unilaterally-claimed human territory. They continue crowding Astarion, touching his ears and tipping his face in a way that would get most people slapped, or even worse―
―stabbed, which is what Iorveth is planning to do. Ankles finally freed (the men are still yapping on and on about how the Woodland Fox killed their cousins, how they lost an entire town because Iorveth took a torch to it, et cetera, ad infinitum), Iorveth slips, silent, from the cart he was deposited on, and slinks towards the man occupying Astarion's left.
"Guess none of this matters to a loose elf like you," he sneers. Iorveth has no context for this statement, but it makes him see red. Or, well. It makes the red he's been seeing even darker.
A mauled but still-deft hand finds a curved knife that one of the other man left behind; without hesitation, Iorveth makes his may behind the man occupying Astarion's left and plunges the weapon through the human's neck, back to front, until the blade protrudes and glints in firelight. ]
Don't speak, [ he snarls as he roughly pulls the knife out from the man's throat, letting him fall to the side with a wet gurgle and a flailing of thick limbs. The rest of the declaration, "just die", is put on reserve: Iorveth sets his sights on the second man, now scrambling onto his feet with a half-choked yell of alarm. ]
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―stabbed, which is what Iorveth is planning to do. Ankles finally freed (the men are still yapping on and on about how the Woodland Fox killed their cousins, how they lost an entire town because Iorveth took a torch to it, et cetera, ad infinitum), Iorveth slips, silent, from the cart he was deposited on, and slinks towards the man occupying Astarion's left.
"Guess none of this matters to a loose elf like you," he sneers. Iorveth has no context for this statement, but it makes him see red. Or, well. It makes the red he's been seeing even darker.
A mauled but still-deft hand finds a curved knife that one of the other man left behind; without hesitation, Iorveth makes his may behind the man occupying Astarion's left and plunges the weapon through the human's neck, back to front, until the blade protrudes and glints in firelight. ]
Don't speak, [ he snarls as he roughly pulls the knife out from the man's throat, letting him fall to the side with a wet gurgle and a flailing of thick limbs. The rest of the declaration, "just die", is put on reserve: Iorveth sets his sights on the second man, now scrambling onto his feet with a half-choked yell of alarm. ]