[ Astarion is nimble, but unfamiliar with forest terrain. It would be a trifle to disappear into the dark alleys of the city, stepping over every loose cobblestone and stray cat running underfoot. The uneven ground of the woods has him stumbling, though, working to yank his foot away from the bramble that's caught on the ankle of his trousers. ]
I am being careful, [ is his whispered, petulant complaint. ] Gods, I detest nature.
[ Maybe not the most flattering thing to say in front of a nature-loving wood elf. Still, as he nearly trips over a gnarled branch, he certainly doesn't feel warmly towards nature.
What he lacks in survivalist know-how he makes up for in experience hiding in the dark. As he hears the heavy footsteps of armored men behind them, he drags Iorveth toward a small, shadowed alcove. He all but shoves him inside, pressing himself as flat as he can as the the footsteps grow louder. ]
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I am being careful, [ is his whispered, petulant complaint. ] Gods, I detest nature.
[ Maybe not the most flattering thing to say in front of a nature-loving wood elf. Still, as he nearly trips over a gnarled branch, he certainly doesn't feel warmly towards nature.
What he lacks in survivalist know-how he makes up for in experience hiding in the dark. As he hears the heavy footsteps of armored men behind them, he drags Iorveth toward a small, shadowed alcove. He all but shoves him inside, pressing himself as flat as he can as the the footsteps grow louder. ]