[There's something to be said for how much better Astarion feels once the door's thoroughly locked behind them (though Fenris might not be able to say the same, given the fact that he's no better educated on the man that's led him here). Without ceremony, the pale elf plucks up a dusty bottle of wine from the nearest heap, uncorking it and pouring two glasses' worth into cups already left out (read: only slightly dirty) on the table just in front of Fenris.
As he pours, he pulls one dark leather glove off with his teeth, revealing a sickly green glow embedded deep within his palm.
An anchor-shard. Unmistakable.
The bottle's set aside. Astarion sits down.]
You were there, when I was first drawn into this world.
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As he pours, he pulls one dark leather glove off with his teeth, revealing a sickly green glow embedded deep within his palm.
An anchor-shard. Unmistakable.
The bottle's set aside. Astarion sits down.]
You were there, when I was first drawn into this world.