[ Trancing without Astarion by his side turns out to be an interesting affair― a strange floating in liminal space, interspersed with occasional flashes of the past in varying degrees of nearness. The hag, Astarion in sunlight, his childhood, Isengrim.
When he finally pulls out of the trance's gauzelike haze, Iorveth feels... not well-rested, per se, but less liable to get a migraine from fatigue. He pulls a fresh set of clothes on, goes to the washroom to freshen up, and tidies up his appearance a bit: he toys with the idea of braiding his hair, and ultimately weaves one neat braid that sits primly over his left ear, framing the unmarred side of his face.
With that done, he puts on his usual scent and makes his way downstairs, where Gale is apparently celebrating Astarion's victory by torturing him. ]
He's not listening, [ Iorveth answers on Astarion's behalf, brow raised and lips arched in a small smile. ] But I see I'm interrupting something important. Perhaps I'll go for a walk.
no subject
When he finally pulls out of the trance's gauzelike haze, Iorveth feels... not well-rested, per se, but less liable to get a migraine from fatigue. He pulls a fresh set of clothes on, goes to the washroom to freshen up, and tidies up his appearance a bit: he toys with the idea of braiding his hair, and ultimately weaves one neat braid that sits primly over his left ear, framing the unmarred side of his face.
With that done, he puts on his usual scent and makes his way downstairs, where Gale is apparently celebrating Astarion's victory by torturing him. ]
He's not listening, [ Iorveth answers on Astarion's behalf, brow raised and lips arched in a small smile. ] But I see I'm interrupting something important. Perhaps I'll go for a walk.
[ Mean!!! ]