[ The indigo-black of night is slowly thinning; they will have to hurry, before the sun starts bruising the sky yellow-purple. Iorveth lets Astarion lead, north and away from the hollering of the panicked Flotsam residents, away from fire and smoke and ash, into the placid indifference of an ancient forest that rests on far too many bodies for two elves to be particularly remarkable.
Here and there, as they walk, there are vestiges of what might have been elven settlements: broken marble columns leaning against the trunks of broad trees, crumbling limestone stairs leading to elevated platforms without walls or ceilings. Something that resembles half of a fountain is nestled in a clearing lined with flowering bushes; a statue lies sideways in moss, so damaged that it's impossible to tell if it was of a man or a woman.
Iorveth keeps his expression trained to obstinate neutral, biting back the agony of preternatural grief. There may be something in all this rubble that could serve as shelter from impending and inevitable daylight; right now, Astarion is more important than the weight of desecrated elven history. ]
Do you see anything suitable?
[ Broken arches, stone bridges, a lopsided gazebo. Iorveth stays close behind Astarion, deferring to him for a decision; whatever makes him feel less like an animal burrowing into a hole. ]
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Here and there, as they walk, there are vestiges of what might have been elven settlements: broken marble columns leaning against the trunks of broad trees, crumbling limestone stairs leading to elevated platforms without walls or ceilings. Something that resembles half of a fountain is nestled in a clearing lined with flowering bushes; a statue lies sideways in moss, so damaged that it's impossible to tell if it was of a man or a woman.
Iorveth keeps his expression trained to obstinate neutral, biting back the agony of preternatural grief. There may be something in all this rubble that could serve as shelter from impending and inevitable daylight; right now, Astarion is more important than the weight of desecrated elven history. ]
Do you see anything suitable?
[ Broken arches, stone bridges, a lopsided gazebo. Iorveth stays close behind Astarion, deferring to him for a decision; whatever makes him feel less like an animal burrowing into a hole. ]