[ Descending into the bowels of the manse is harrowing, just as it was previously. Every step further into the palace makes him tense involuntarily, and this time the ride down the elevator is filled not with fear of Cazador but a churning in his gut, preemptively sick at seeing the evidence of his disgrace. It's almost a relief to see his trio of siblings, a thought he was sure he'd never have. Talking to them means he won't have to face his victims yet. Images of their sallow, gaunt faces are still stamped into his brain. ]

Aurelia, [ he says to Iorveth, canting his head toward the tiefling woman, her skin an ashen reddish hue, her dark locks pulled back in a braided style. Another cant of his head goes toward the elf, pale-haired, fair-skinned, and beautiful. Cazador has a type. ] Dalyria.

[ He steps forward off the dais, the heels of his boots clacking against the stone floors, the sound reverberating through the vast crypt. Despite how uneasy he feels being down here again, he throws his shoulders back, looking every bit the confident cad. ]

Look at us. It's a veritable family reunion. [ He waves a hand. ] Well, all of the tolerable members, anyway.

[ The jury is still very much out on Petras.

The trio, which had been engrossed in a heated conversation only seconds earlier, turns to face them. It's obvious that Dalyria and Aurelia are surprised to see him—and even more surprised to see his company—but Petras hardly seems fazed.

"Astarion!" Dalyria exclaims. "Petras said you'd taken on the master and lived to tell the tale, but—" ]

But you doubted me? Don't be ridiculous, Dal.