[ There is a part of him that hates being made weak, hates that Iorveth is a huge gaping vulnerability, a wound that anyone with ill intentions can stick their fingers into. But he loves Iorveth more than he hates weakness, something that would have felt impossible months ago, so he shakes his head, hauling Iorveth's body over the side of the crate until they're both sprawled on the floor. ]
Shut up, you stupid old bag.
[ Probably not the way he should be talking to a hag that holds his fate in her thin, sinewy hands, but Astarion has never been polite. Sitting up, he takes Iorveth in his arms again, shaking him in a way that's likely too violent for someone who just suffered a head injury. He can't help it; he's never felt so panicked in his life, not even when Iorveth had been poisoned. At least then he had time. ]
[ 'Stupid old bag'. The hag's expression twists when Astarion doesn't do exactly as she'd wanted－ obviously, she'd expected him to cave immediately. She hisses at the pair, flecks of saliva hitting Iorveth's slowly-stirring face, and flicks her still-glowing hand to blast Astarion back with a jolt of force energy (magic missile, how annoying).
"You really don't know when to give up, do you? Not a single wrinkle on that small, small brain."
Annoyed now (throwing a tantrum of her own, really), the hag approaches and stomps, hard, over Astarion's leg, with enough force to break bone if he's unlucky.
"Now sleep, and give everything you love to dear Granny."
Grinding her heel over the same leg, delighting in Astarion's pain－
－she fails to notice Iorveth moving just below her, rearing up with his silvered blade to make an attempt at destroying the flesh bag dangling from the hag's chest. ]
[ It's funny. Astarion has a very low tolerance for any sort of mild discomfort, but the pain of having his leg shattered by a hag's heel hardly registers. The burst of adrenaline from Iorveth's awakening dulls any sensation, and he feels as if he could run all the way back to Waterdeep if need be.
Iorveth slashes at Granny's hideous skin-bag, tearing it open. Maybe it's the blood rushing in his ears, but Astarion could swear he hears it scream, a shrill, whistling sound, like something escaping. Granny certainly screams, stumbling back as if she herself is the one being stabbed. "You wretched brat! I'll skin you alive for that!" (Astarion gets the feeling she was planning on skinning Iorveth alive anyway. It seems the sort of thing she'd do.)
He scrambles onto his feet, ignoring the awful crunching sound when he puts weight on the leg that the hag had crushed underneath her foot. Granny Heart rears back, gnarled claws poised to swipe at Iorveth again; Astarion yanks him by the arm. ]
Let's go.
[ He isn't too proud to run away from this situation like a coward. ]
[ The hag was definitely just going to skin Iorveth anyway (the perils of having a sick tattoo); Iorveth barely registers the threat anyway, half-concussed and too concerned about the state of Astarion's leg to give a single fuck.
The world spins around him, literally. Colors and vague shapes. He follows when he's yanked, because he also knows when it's better to live than to dig his heels in and die for the sake of pride. In this situation, they're both outclassed and underprepared, and dying here would be dying for no reason at all.
So he stumbles after Astarion, ignoring the shrieks and clamor of oddities falling behind him. He throws something that looks like the end of a flail over his shoulder, and narrowly avoids being blasted by an incoming ray of enfeeblement.
A mess. Bombarded by projectiles and trinkets, they stumble out of the shop as the hag is left to stay behind and scream about the state of her soul bag. Small mercies: the creature doesn't want to risk making a scene in public, which means that once they careen outside, they're relatively safe.
(Unless some passing guard spots the two bloodied, haunted looking elves and decides to arrest them. Wouldn't that make this a night to remember.) ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Shut up, you stupid old bag.
[ Probably not the way he should be talking to a hag that holds his fate in her thin, sinewy hands, but Astarion has never been polite. Sitting up, he takes Iorveth in his arms again, shaking him in a way that's likely too violent for someone who just suffered a head injury. He can't help it; he's never felt so panicked in his life, not even when Iorveth had been poisoned. At least then he had time. ]
Wake up.
no subject
"You really don't know when to give up, do you? Not a single wrinkle on that small, small brain."
Annoyed now (throwing a tantrum of her own, really), the hag approaches and stomps, hard, over Astarion's leg, with enough force to break bone if he's unlucky.
"Now sleep, and give everything you love to dear Granny."
Grinding her heel over the same leg, delighting in Astarion's pain－
－she fails to notice Iorveth moving just below her, rearing up with his silvered blade to make an attempt at destroying the flesh bag dangling from the hag's chest. ]
Don't touch him, you fuck.
no subject
Iorveth slashes at Granny's hideous skin-bag, tearing it open. Maybe it's the blood rushing in his ears, but Astarion could swear he hears it scream, a shrill, whistling sound, like something escaping. Granny certainly screams, stumbling back as if she herself is the one being stabbed. "You wretched brat! I'll skin you alive for that!" (Astarion gets the feeling she was planning on skinning Iorveth alive anyway. It seems the sort of thing she'd do.)
He scrambles onto his feet, ignoring the awful crunching sound when he puts weight on the leg that the hag had crushed underneath her foot. Granny Heart rears back, gnarled claws poised to swipe at Iorveth again; Astarion yanks him by the arm. ]
Let's go.
[ He isn't too proud to run away from this situation like a coward. ]
no subject
The world spins around him, literally. Colors and vague shapes. He follows when he's yanked, because he also knows when it's better to live than to dig his heels in and die for the sake of pride. In this situation, they're both outclassed and underprepared, and dying here would be dying for no reason at all.
So he stumbles after Astarion, ignoring the shrieks and clamor of oddities falling behind him. He throws something that looks like the end of a flail over his shoulder, and narrowly avoids being blasted by an incoming ray of enfeeblement.
A mess. Bombarded by projectiles and trinkets, they stumble out of the shop as the hag is left to stay behind and scream about the state of her soul bag. Small mercies: the creature doesn't want to risk making a scene in public, which means that once they careen outside, they're relatively safe.
(Unless some passing guard spots the two bloodied, haunted looking elves and decides to arrest them. Wouldn't that make this a night to remember.) ]