―a withdrawal, and an attack. Iorveth watches in a half-daze, the pain of poison and antidote still raging under his skin. Despite the fact that he knows he should chide Astarion for his timing (poor), he also knows that doing so would make him a hypocrite. Were their roles reversed, he would be doing the same.
Or, well. Maybe not the same same. Different tactics, certainly. Throttling is the least efficient way to kill someone, and he tries to rasp a short warning. ]
Astarion―!
[ 'Your dagger', he coughs, though Astarion might not be able to hear it under Damris's equally enraged snarling, his pretty face contorted in spiteful hate. It's evident that the choking is more painful to Damris than it is damaging, the usual physical compulsion to breathe overridden by an undead spawn's instinct to survive; grappling with Astarion, the tiefling raises his hand with the syringe still in it and attempts to blindly jab Astarion wherever he might be able to land a blow. His side is the easiest target.
(Meanwhile, Iorveth scrabbles for one of his own three knives, two of them being lightweight things more suitable for throwing than stabbing. Oh no this fucker won't, he thinks to himself.) ]
no subject
―a withdrawal, and an attack. Iorveth watches in a half-daze, the pain of poison and antidote still raging under his skin. Despite the fact that he knows he should chide Astarion for his timing (poor), he also knows that doing so would make him a hypocrite. Were their roles reversed, he would be doing the same.
Or, well. Maybe not the same same. Different tactics, certainly. Throttling is the least efficient way to kill someone, and he tries to rasp a short warning. ]
Astarion―!
[ 'Your dagger', he coughs, though Astarion might not be able to hear it under Damris's equally enraged snarling, his pretty face contorted in spiteful hate. It's evident that the choking is more painful to Damris than it is damaging, the usual physical compulsion to breathe overridden by an undead spawn's instinct to survive; grappling with Astarion, the tiefling raises his hand with the syringe still in it and attempts to blindly jab Astarion wherever he might be able to land a blow. His side is the easiest target.
(Meanwhile, Iorveth scrabbles for one of his own three knives, two of them being lightweight things more suitable for throwing than stabbing. Oh no this fucker won't, he thinks to himself.) ]