[ Astarion feels furious about the marks left on Iorveth's face, but before he can seek revenge by carving up the hag's hideous face, she extends a hand that shimmers with arcane energy. His limbs feel suddenly very limp, his eyelids heavy, and he reaches out to lean against a shelf full of morbid curiosities. A leather-bound (he hopes it's leather, and not flesh) tome with an inscription in a strange, unrecognizable language, what looks to be a humanoid's tongue jarred and floating in viscous fluid, a too-shiny amulet with a blood-red jewel.
His eyes flutter closed, and he fights to open them again. He reaches out, trying to find the words to cast another spell, but his brain feels terribly foggy. His eyes shut again, and as he collapses in an unconscious heap on the floor, he brings the contents of the shelf down along with him. ]
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His eyes flutter closed, and he fights to open them again. He reaches out, trying to find the words to cast another spell, but his brain feels terribly foggy. His eyes shut again, and as he collapses in an unconscious heap on the floor, he brings the contents of the shelf down along with him. ]