[ Oh, great. A Bhaalist and an Absolutist rolled into one. They've won the world's most unfortunate lottery.

Discussion of an insane, murderous changeling who's instrumental to the plot threatening their very existence is no time to be as cute as Iorveth is being. In fact, it's probably terribly inappropriate timing. Astarion doesn't mind inappropriate, though, so his mouth quirks up faintly at the ridiculously sweet kiss to his nose, hand coming up to finger at the ring on Iorveth's chain. The grin would be far bigger if not for the frown that fights it at the thought of Orin. ]

I detest that woman. She smells of tenday-old meat.

[ And the other atrocities, sure, but the smell is definitely her worst quality. And that's coming from an undead.

With a sigh: ] I suppose we've no choice, if it gets us closer to those Netherstones.

[ The idea of anything related to the Netherbrain is unpleasant, but still less unpleasant than becoming a tentacled thrall. ]