[ Through the murderous haze hanging heavy over his senses, Astarion feels a flash of alarm and then recognition as his vision suddenly goes dark. A blindness spell—but how had the tiefling cast it without speaking? ]
What—?
[ As Astarion struggles to maintain his grip on his prey, another sense entirely begins to paint its own picture: the scent of blood, heady and perplexing. Part of Astarion puzzles, distantly, over where the blood had even come from; he hasn't inflicted any such wounds on the tiefling, not yet.
Another part of him, maddened by the phantom miasma of this place and ever, unrelentingly hungry, doesn't think at all. As his vision returns, it sees the violet skin of the tiefling's neck smeared with red, and lunges, fangs bared for his prey's exposed throat. ]
no subject
What—?
[ As Astarion struggles to maintain his grip on his prey, another sense entirely begins to paint its own picture: the scent of blood, heady and perplexing. Part of Astarion puzzles, distantly, over where the blood had even come from; he hasn't inflicted any such wounds on the tiefling, not yet.
Another part of him, maddened by the phantom miasma of this place and ever, unrelentingly hungry, doesn't think at all. As his vision returns, it sees the violet skin of the tiefling's neck smeared with red, and lunges, fangs bared for his prey's exposed throat. ]