[ Iorveth's gaze momentarily slides to the side, just shy of demurring from the compliment. He isn't ashamed of wanting keepsakes- elves and their longevity means that they lose people to memory more often than not- but he doesn't want to come across as overeager.
He adjusts the chain around his neck, and feels the stone inset warm against his skin. It's grounding, in a way. ]
Nothing will happen to it. [ An encouraging nudge, again, before he turns and wraps his fingers around the entrance doorknob. ] You won't let anyone near my neck, I trust.
[ This would've been bitingly sarcastic if he were saying it to anyone else: a scathing "thank you for the completely unnecessary concern". Aimed at Astarion, it's a simple "I trust you".
Iorveth pushes the door open. The interior of the palace is like pitch, a darkness that tests even his natural Darkvision; the atmosphere is even more fetid and funereal than his first foray into the premises, thick and oppressive.
The dessicated body of a woman lies prone on the corridor leading into the main foyer, paper-white skin ghoulish in the dark. Iorveth wrinkles his nose. ]
no subject
He adjusts the chain around his neck, and feels the stone inset warm against his skin. It's grounding, in a way. ]
Nothing will happen to it. [ An encouraging nudge, again, before he turns and wraps his fingers around the entrance doorknob. ] You won't let anyone near my neck, I trust.
[ This would've been bitingly sarcastic if he were saying it to anyone else: a scathing "thank you for the completely unnecessary concern". Aimed at Astarion, it's a simple "I trust you".
Iorveth pushes the door open. The interior of the palace is like pitch, a darkness that tests even his natural Darkvision; the atmosphere is even more fetid and funereal than his first foray into the premises, thick and oppressive.
The dessicated body of a woman lies prone on the corridor leading into the main foyer, paper-white skin ghoulish in the dark. Iorveth wrinkles his nose. ]