[ Politeness has never been Astarion's strong suit, and he doesn't employ it now, ignoring the well-intentioned halfling. The smell of Iorveth's blood grows stronger, and he looks distinctly unwell. A problem for him, considering he relies on Iorveth to make decisions and know what to do in difficult situations much like this. He wraps a hand firmly around Iorveth's wrist to keep him balanced and, after a moment of debate, presses his palm against Iorveth's shoulder in a clumsy attempt to stem some of the bleeding. ]
Out of my way, [ he snaps at the poor halfling and anyone else unlucky enough to be loitering around them, shoving through the crowd and pulling Iorveth along with him. He hears murmurs of discontent from behind them but pays them no mind, lumbering forward with Iorveth in tow until he suddenly stops in the middle of the street, frowning when he realizes he has no destination in mind.
The Elfsong is too far from the Lower City, but he's no healer. Perhaps he could raid a shop, or hope that a passing cleric takes pity on them. Finally, he decides to lead Iorveth into the closest building, a quaint thing with a sign out front that simply reads TAILOR. Inside is less a shop and more a private residence, inhabited by a grey-haired gnome woman and what must be at least six cats dressed in perfectly sewed little outfits. The woman herself is in the middle of measuring the waist of a hefty half-orc who looks to be sucking in his gut; the both of them startle at the elves' sudden appearance in the entryway.
"Oh, dear," she says, gaping a little before patting the man on the stomach, which promptly expands as he lets out the breath he was holding. "I'm afraid we'll have to continue this another time, Kurug." ]
no subject
Out of my way, [ he snaps at the poor halfling and anyone else unlucky enough to be loitering around them, shoving through the crowd and pulling Iorveth along with him. He hears murmurs of discontent from behind them but pays them no mind, lumbering forward with Iorveth in tow until he suddenly stops in the middle of the street, frowning when he realizes he has no destination in mind.
The Elfsong is too far from the Lower City, but he's no healer. Perhaps he could raid a shop, or hope that a passing cleric takes pity on them. Finally, he decides to lead Iorveth into the closest building, a quaint thing with a sign out front that simply reads TAILOR. Inside is less a shop and more a private residence, inhabited by a grey-haired gnome woman and what must be at least six cats dressed in perfectly sewed little outfits. The woman herself is in the middle of measuring the waist of a hefty half-orc who looks to be sucking in his gut; the both of them startle at the elves' sudden appearance in the entryway.
"Oh, dear," she says, gaping a little before patting the man on the stomach, which promptly expands as he lets out the breath he was holding. "I'm afraid we'll have to continue this another time, Kurug." ]