[ Very rude of his slippery cat to beat him to the hatch. Iorveth scowls, but there really isn't much he can do to deter Astarion by the time he reaches the edge of the pit. All he can do is watch that silver head of hair disappear into the dim, where Damris may or may not be waiting with a sharp object that he'd hidden somewhere in the basement.
Fortunately for them, Damris is waiting down in the dim, stone cellar with his hands folded behind his back, the very picture of serene innocence. Whether it's a tactic or not, Iorveth can't tell－ he's put so much of his energy into climbing down without collapsing on top of Astarion that his vision is blurred by the time his feet touch damp, smooth stone.
The tiefling smiles, so guileless that it's infuriating.
"You friend doesn't look like he's doing well," he notes. More confident than before, almost as if it's finally sunk in that he has a real advantage, which is that Astarion actually does care enough about his personal blood donor to follow him blindly through a vampire lord's manor. His steps are purposeful, leisurely, as he winds down a narrow passage that slopes gently upwards, occasionally flanked by heavy-looking wooden doors. It makes Iorveth remember what Astarion called the one room in Cazador's manor: 'the kennel'.
(From behind one door, soft scrabbling. Almost as if someone behind it is clawing at it.) ]
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Fortunately for them, Damris is waiting down in the dim, stone cellar with his hands folded behind his back, the very picture of serene innocence. Whether it's a tactic or not, Iorveth can't tell－ he's put so much of his energy into climbing down without collapsing on top of Astarion that his vision is blurred by the time his feet touch damp, smooth stone.
The tiefling smiles, so guileless that it's infuriating.
"You friend doesn't look like he's doing well," he notes. More confident than before, almost as if it's finally sunk in that he has a real advantage, which is that Astarion actually does care enough about his personal blood donor to follow him blindly through a vampire lord's manor. His steps are purposeful, leisurely, as he winds down a narrow passage that slopes gently upwards, occasionally flanked by heavy-looking wooden doors. It makes Iorveth remember what Astarion called the one room in Cazador's manor: 'the kennel'.
(From behind one door, soft scrabbling. Almost as if someone behind it is clawing at it.) ]