Fuck, [ Astarion says aloud. It's not like his presence is a secret anymore. He stares at the open wardrobe filled with magical clothing. What he should do is grab the cloak, grab Iorveth, and run. But there's no telling which of these cloaks is the cloak, and it would take so long to rifle through them all. They won't all fit in his pack, either, and if he carries them in his arms, he'll be entirely helpless to defend Iorveth.
So, he steps away from the wardrobe, no matter how much it hurts to do it knowing that his life's greatest desire is in there, waiting for him. He vaguely recalls Iorveth saying that he shouldn't step in unless Iorveth calls for him, but it seems even less important to follow that now than it did when he said it. Astarion can hear the sound of something heavy and person-shaped colliding with the wall, and he barrels through the narrow passageway like an invisible bull, knocking over tomes and glass vials of strange, swirling substances.
He doesn't think about it. He doesn't even consciously do it; it just happens. Before he knows it, he has a dagger embedded in the sickly purple (everything here is godsdamned purple) of the hag's flesh, and he flickers back into view. Dagger still deep in her skin, he stumbles back.
She blinks, then rips the blade out with one sharp movement, tossing it on the floor by his feet. ]
Oh, [ he says, right as she crows, "Stupid little creatures." ]
no subject
So, he steps away from the wardrobe, no matter how much it hurts to do it knowing that his life's greatest desire is in there, waiting for him. He vaguely recalls Iorveth saying that he shouldn't step in unless Iorveth calls for him, but it seems even less important to follow that now than it did when he said it. Astarion can hear the sound of something heavy and person-shaped colliding with the wall, and he barrels through the narrow passageway like an invisible bull, knocking over tomes and glass vials of strange, swirling substances.
He doesn't think about it. He doesn't even consciously do it; it just happens. Before he knows it, he has a dagger embedded in the sickly purple (everything here is godsdamned purple) of the hag's flesh, and he flickers back into view. Dagger still deep in her skin, he stumbles back.
She blinks, then rips the blade out with one sharp movement, tossing it on the floor by his feet. ]
Oh, [ he says, right as she crows, "Stupid little creatures." ]