[ Astarion would find wood elf culture so twee, with its flowers and braiding and leather crafting in the forest. A band of people bonded together in communalism, confluence, and coexistence－ all things that Astarion truly had no reason to believe in or want. He really would be miserable up north.
That said, he still looks very pretty with a flower in his hair. Iorveth wraps an arm around Astarion's waist, and follows his gaze to the drinking men. ]
You could still hunt, if you wish to.
[ For himself, Iorveth means. Without being beholden to Cazador, he could go and sate his hunger on his own terms. Granted, someone will probably die in the process (unless Astarion decides to exercise restraint at his own safety's expense), but that door is now open to him. No more rules, no more "do not drink of the blood of sentient creatures", or whatever that worm enforced against Astarion's autonomy. ]
no subject
That said, he still looks very pretty with a flower in his hair. Iorveth wraps an arm around Astarion's waist, and follows his gaze to the drinking men. ]
You could still hunt, if you wish to.
[ For himself, Iorveth means. Without being beholden to Cazador, he could go and sate his hunger on his own terms. Granted, someone will probably die in the process (unless Astarion decides to exercise restraint at his own safety's expense), but that door is now open to him. No more rules, no more "do not drink of the blood of sentient creatures", or whatever that worm enforced against Astarion's autonomy. ]
Are you hungry?