[ Astarion ignores the mmph, mmph of that ugly mummy beckoning them over. No amount of blood or alcohol could persuade him to sully his appearance with common face paint. Cold fingers closing around Iorveth's wrist, he tugs him through the throng, afraid to lose Iorveth in the crowd. He'd never thought of himself as claustrophobic, but there's something about being surrounded by people in every direction that makes him feel suffocated.

He glances back at Benji, then leans in next to Iorveth's ear and whispers, ] I should count my blessings. I could have risen again as one of those hideous creatures.

[ As they pass that awful djinni, his voice booms out. "COME HITHER, AND SPIN THE WHEEL!" ]

Ugh. Where is that necromancer?