[Good signs, if nothing else. There's no scattering of ancient texts across every surface while everything else withers and rots, which means he isn't likely sinking into a pit of corrupted, sword-induced madness— and probably isn't cursed, either. Which means whatever has him so stiffened at already stiff seams is likely just....
Real.
Just him.
Astarion strolls inside like he belongs there, as he's done a hundred times before, settling down in that chair opposite the bed.]
You know what I'm asking. Don't make me spell it out.
no subject
Real.
Just him.
Astarion strolls inside like he belongs there, as he's done a hundred times before, settling down in that chair opposite the bed.]
You know what I'm asking. Don't make me spell it out.