[ A sea of hollow, glowing eyes; wraiths in all shapes and sizes. Some of them are wearing clothes that are fraying off of their thin bodies, in styles that seem old-fashioned even by Iorveth's standards. Iorveth sweeps his attention over them, maps the tired track of their slippery focus and turns back towards Astarion. ]
I wouldn't start with conversations about the weather. [ Dry humor, to take the edge off of a situation so sharp that it must cut Astarion to be present for it.. Doubtful how well it works, though. Nothing will make this process easier.
As if to corroborate his mental assessment, a low voice filters through the relative quiet, accompanied by the sound of jostling, cloth against cloth as one of the spawn pushes himself through the crowd.
"That voice... I've heard that voice before."
Matted silver hair and grime-covered skin mar what must have been a handsome man in life; he shuffles forward, staggering close enough to the prison bars that Iorveth can smell the thick scent of copper and earth on him, death made manifest. ]
no subject
I wouldn't start with conversations about the weather. [ Dry humor, to take the edge off of a situation so sharp that it must cut Astarion to be present for it.. Doubtful how well it works, though. Nothing will make this process easier.
As if to corroborate his mental assessment, a low voice filters through the relative quiet, accompanied by the sound of jostling, cloth against cloth as one of the spawn pushes himself through the crowd.
"That voice... I've heard that voice before."
Matted silver hair and grime-covered skin mar what must have been a handsome man in life; he shuffles forward, staggering close enough to the prison bars that Iorveth can smell the thick scent of copper and earth on him, death made manifest. ]