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It had been a long day and he was weary, but he must cling to what rituals he knew. If Lae'zel was right, if they would all be nothing but mindless Ilithids come the morn then he could at least see to his armour and blade, perhaps another knight would find them. Perhaps that knight would dispatch them if they were smart and merciful.
He dutifully rubbed each piece of armour with the oiled sand cloth, buffing it to a fine shine, removing any dirt or debris. Once that was done, he picked up the longsword and set to work sharpening the blade. At least he would've done, that age old war wound made his arm and hand ache. He flexed his fingers trying to rid himself of the sensation. The pain eventually faded, but a prickling sensation on the back of his neck told him someone was watching him...
Astarion’s red eyes watched from the shadows as deft hands made quick work of caring for the stranger’s armor and blade; each movement was more precise than he’d expected from someone who looked so weary. He shrunk back as those shining eyes scanned the area yet again, a silent scowl flitting across his face. As he contemplated his options, another bout of dizziness and exhaustion came over him. His own body weight felt like a solid iron statue above near-wobbling legs, and he knew that if he didn’t feed soon, he’d be even weaker than he already was. So, once more, he looked at the stranger. Gritting his teeth, he shoved his reservations about the man to the side and began to approach, knife by his side and fangs at the ready.
The night was peaceful and quiet, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and the chirps of crickets. Rhaenor had almost finished his methodical work cleaning his armour and sword, when a sudden snap of a twig made him swiftly look up and around at the forest behind him. His eyes narrowed and he got to his feet.
Perhaps if he had not been a soldier for so long he would've dismissed it, but he could tell the difference between the scuffling of an animal in the undergrowth and someone carelessly moving around in the dark. He tightened his hold on his sword and peered into the gloom.
His heart was beating fast, but he calmed his breathing, remembering everything his uncle taught him. 'If you do not try anything foolish I may be inclined to mercy,' he called out in a commanding tone. 'But I would not recommend attacking me.'
“Well, shit,” Astarion muttered as he stepped out of the shadows, revealing himself to the stranger. “I wasn’t going to hurt you, I swear.” As he said it, he felt exhaustion pull at him so strongly that no matter what he had intended, even he was no longer certain of the statement rang true. But it didn’t matter now.
Cursing the squirrels and rats for their gods-damned survival instinct—or hibernation season or whatever had caused them to seemingly become much smarter than they used to be—Astarion sheathed his knife and held his hands up. “I…well, look, there isn’t a good way to say this, but I’m an…ahem, well I’m a vampire! I know we’ve only just met, certainly gotten off on the wrong foot, but I am no danger to you, I swear it!” If his heart still beat, it would be thudding loudly, each beat sending the wound of blood pumped from one chamber to the next in his chest lot in his pointed ears. As it was, his ears focused on the minute shifts of the man before him and the first around him.
“Listen,” he said, gesturing vaguely and taking a deceptively casual stance. “I know you are probably thinking of running something painfully pointy through my chest, but in truth, you must be out here alone for a reason. Maybe, if I could just have a few drops of blood, I could…be of service to you.”
He’d selected his words carefully, just a touch of seduction creeping into his voice at the end. On the outside, he was the image of aloof flirtatiousness, but inside, he hoped that somehow, against all odds, this man had something he needed more than just a body to satisfy him. The past had shown Astarion that the chances were slim, but the meager campsite suggested the man was focused on things other than carnal pleasures—at least for the time being, anyway. And that offered the elf more hope than he’d had in a long time.
Massive apologies for how long it's taken to reply back.
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Rhaenor got to his feet, snatching up his sword and tightening his grip on the hilt. He watched the stranger approach, taking in the pale man, but did not move closer. Vampires were incredibly dangerous, they could turn into mist and move so quickly they'd be on you before you could blink. He raied a brow at the man's insistence that he was not a danger.
'You'll forgive me if I struggle to believe that!' Rhaenor muttered, still watching the man, still waiting to see if the vampire would lunge forward. He almost laughed at the man's suggestion that if Rhaenor gave him some blood he could be of service.
'That's a good one, I'll admit I never heard of that attempt! Aren't your kind usually bite first and ask questions later?' He snorted. 'Still, I am not interested in becoming a creature of the night and allowing you to have control over me. Besides, I am not alone, my companion will be rejoining me shortly, so I suggest you be on your way before I do run you through.'
“‘Your kind?’” Exhausted as he was, Astarion could only let out a hollow and shaky laugh as the man spoke. “Oh, I see what this is: you think I’m a true vampire! Ha! Well, I will be the first to assure you that I am not; I am nothing more than a spawn. A slave. So, rest assured that I’m not going to magically poof myself into a cloud of mist or anything like that.”
He took a cautious step forward, and when he wasn’t immediately run through with a sword, he took it as a sign that he could keep talking without being killed—for now, at least.
“As for my methods: you can hardly blame me for trying.” He dropped his voice into a more sultry tone as he flirted. Inside, he was screaming. If this had occurred last tenday, he would have had to tell Cazador about how he was in the woods, weakened and disheveled. He could practically hear Godey laughing while he screamed. But that was before. Now, he didn’t have to report, but still he felt pressure to do… to do what exactly? He wasn’t going to lure the man to Cazador’s palace since he had no plans to set foot anywhere near the place. No, all there was now was the call of the blood, singing to his trembling body.
“Surely, a strong man like yourself would be willing to help me find a boar or deer nearby? Or maybe your companion would be willing to let me have a taste.”
