The door to an inn room was standing wide open, anyone able to see the pale elf sitting on the edge of the bed and the photograph held almost reverently in his hand. There’s what might be an expression of wonder in the edge of his expression that’s visible, his free hand tracing fingertips over the line of his nose.
He turns though, at the sound of whomever is there and the expression is gone. Replaced by a grin as he holds the photo up beside his face.
“I think they captured my best side, don’t you think?”
It’s Alright
(Potential for Spoilers, TW: Murder, Violence, Torture, Consent Issues potential discussion of slavery, body horror, please tell me what to avoid if asking him to share!)
Astarion had seen people returning with fresh game, and while he knew he couldn’t actually starve without a drink it didn’t stop the gnawing thirst from twisting through him.
For a man who lied like breathing he was fairly adept at forcing himself to ignore the whisper of a thousand souls and the bile of a thousand more horrors he’d survived. At least for now.
The chance to sink his teeth in to something besides fish was more alluring than the discomfort of the magic. So he’d stepped in to the woods, blade at his hip and footsteps a whisper. A Hunter in the cool gloom of the labyrinth of leaves. If someone didn’t know better they might feel like he’s hunting them…
Take Care Of You
A bonfire, a feast, it’s all so very familiar. If he closes his eyes, Astarion can pretend it’s camp after some victory or another. Tieflings or Harpers, the others of their ragtag group of weirdos. He’d never admit to missing them, no but… it had gotten familiar.
Astarion hangs back a bit, comfortable on the edge of the little party with a cup in hand. Observing the lot of them with a keen interest.
He’ll smile if he catches anyone’s eye, tilting his head in invitation. “Come here often, darling?” It’s a joke, of course, none of them seem to be from here.
Astarion | Baldur’s Gate 3 | TDM
The door to an inn room was standing wide open, anyone able to see the pale elf sitting on the edge of the bed and the photograph held almost reverently in his hand. There’s what might be an expression of wonder in the edge of his expression that’s visible, his free hand tracing fingertips over the line of his nose.
He turns though, at the sound of whomever is there and the expression is gone. Replaced by a grin as he holds the photo up beside his face.
“I think they captured my best side, don’t you think?”
It’s Alright
(Potential for Spoilers, TW: Murder, Violence, Torture, Consent Issues potential discussion of slavery, body horror, please tell me what to avoid if asking him to share!)
Astarion had seen people returning with fresh game, and while he knew he couldn’t actually starve without a drink it didn’t stop the gnawing thirst from twisting through him.
For a man who lied like breathing he was fairly adept at forcing himself to ignore the whisper of a thousand souls and the bile of a thousand more horrors he’d survived. At least for now.
The chance to sink his teeth in to something besides fish was more alluring than the discomfort of the magic. So he’d stepped in to the woods, blade at his hip and footsteps a whisper. A Hunter in the cool gloom of the labyrinth of leaves. If someone didn’t know better they might feel like he’s hunting them…
Take Care Of You
A bonfire, a feast, it’s all so very familiar. If he closes his eyes, Astarion can pretend it’s camp after some victory or another. Tieflings or Harpers, the others of their ragtag group of weirdos. He’d never admit to missing them, no but… it had gotten familiar.
Astarion hangs back a bit, comfortable on the edge of the little party with a cup in hand. Observing the lot of them with a keen interest.
He’ll smile if he catches anyone’s eye, tilting his head in invitation. “Come here often, darling?” It’s a joke, of course, none of them seem to be from here.
Wildcard?