[ There he is, and surrounded by a group of wide-eyed young people, no less. It kind of tracks― Iorveth can imagine Magistrate Ancunín delivering verdicts and deliberations with dramatic flair to a crowd full of attentive onlookers. A man who commands attention wherever he goes.

Charming. Iorveth slides into the seat next to Astarion and flags a member of tavern staff for a pint of his own ale, which he assumes he won't be paying for. Astarion says as much.

To the claims of heroism: ]

I'd say that our hero's journey ended with the destruction of the Netherbrain.

[ Again: killjoy. Honest, though. The tiefling woman, too drunk to focus on the first half of Iorveth's statement, murmurs "so you did slay a Netherbrain!" The more exciting half of what Iorveth said, to be sure.

It's a little endearing. Iorveth lost this kind of bright-eyed view of the world ages ago; a part of him warms, and another part of him feels inclined to tease a little. So he leans forward, elbow to the lacquered wood of the table with his chin in his palm, getting into the young adventurer's space. ]

Mm. If my partner hasn't told you, I'm both violent and deranged.

[ Self-awareness is key. ]