Is that what you call them?
The voice, the low rumbling tone. It was nice, the whispering edge to it a little creepy, but it felt almost normal to Astarion.
"More, they call themselves Guardians. Guardians of the tower, perhaps, appearing when an Echo arrives only to scuttle off like insects when a Spotlight is put on them." He saw the other cave, jerking forward yet refusing to touch until given permission.
"Okay, first of all, let's get you off the steps of death and down to the grass. Then we'll work on sourcing the wounds I smell on you and tending to them." He frowns at the way the other's foot moved, looking around as he helped the other to rest. "Tell me they didn't take your mobility aid? Are they serious?"
He sounds outraged, ready to tear something apart as he yanks open his case, fingers grabbing what was needed before he ever so gently turned to the other. He eyed the wounds, careful to be respectful before closing the case.
"I think you've suffered enough with their poor judgement." He stuffs the case into his bag, fetching from his waist a small grey stone.
He eyes the other, scenting the blood on him. There was a fair amount, but not enough to be considered life threatening. Still, he cracks two of them against one another, pressing them against the other's chest.
They shimmer with a faint light, bleeding red before they seemed to melt into the other's body. From their place, warmth bloomed out to seek the injuries and stitch them together, reforming torn skin and righting cracked bone. It wasn't a complete heal, leaving small aches and pains behind.
"Takings a man's mobility aids. Tch, I thought they were better than that. Second chance my-" whatever else he was saying slipped into Elvish, a flurry of anger at the injustice he saw. "Okay." He shakes himself off, hand carding through pale curls to soothe the frantic edge of emotions stirring in him.
"Okay, this is fine. If you like, I can carry or act as your aid. My workshop has some canes and refined crutches for those with joint problems or broken bones that are healing." Red eyes flick up to meet the other's. "I won't pretend to know where you come from or what you've been through. But if nothing else, I'll do what I can to help."
Where was Astarion? The man who groaned and whined and complained about his stupid bard wanting to help every living fucking thing they saw? He'd have just bitten this poor thing, drained him and walked away. But now... After the kindness of Roberto, the desperation to be better of Nai, the helpless sense of worthlessness from Xuanyu and the broken look of the lost that was both Nicholas and Legato...
"There, we'll get you some clothes too, if you like. Don't worry about the price. You just worry about getting back on your feet and finding your stride here, then we'll consider us even." He stands then, brushing his knees and offered a hand.
He could feel the back of his mind click, seeing the shape sprawled as he was, the scent of blood lingering, the state of the world around them... It reminded him of himself, on that day, looking up at Cazador, bleeding and in pain, thinking death or perhaps worse was coming for him with those Gur...
I cannot heal myself from that horror. I cannot take back the desperate plea to live. But perhaps, just... Perhaps... I can offer a better start for someone else in place of such a dream.