[ The corner of Astarion's mouth curls up in cruel amusement. Now that's the sort of begging he's been waiting for: pathetic blubbering by a man on the floor while Astarion stares down at him, merciless and unblinking. Gods, it's perfect -- or it would be, if he hadn't had to be the victim first. Still, he's determined to enjoy the moment while it lasts.

Killing Cazador had been a letdown. This one doesn't have to be. ]

Oh, don't worry. I'll be merciful.

[ He reaches down, yanking the dagger from Loredo's flesh and causing bright red blood to seep from the wound. Astarion inhales the coppery scent of gushing blood as he twirls the dagger in his hand, idle and unhurried. ]

There are plenty of things worse than death. Compared to what he could do to you [ --he glances at Iorveth, sopping wet and bathed in the blood of the Commandant's men-- ] this is a mercy.

[ He crouches, then, getting one last look at Loredo's reddened face before he shoves the blade through his throat. ]