[ Once upon a time, in a life that he lost long before he came here, Astarion had been born a high elf. He would have lived many centuries already, had he not been turned before he'd even reached a half century in age. He had known, very early on in his undead life, that immortality could be a curse. Especially when you had no control over your own future.
He had, perhaps, let some of his newfound power and freedom go to his head. Some. But then - why shouldn't he have let it?
Four months is not nearly enough time for him to accept his fault in the matter. The remains of his once majestic domain have only just stopped smoldering where they crashed into the surface of Horizon.
He has, actually, moved in these four months. Once to visit the site, where poisonous flowers immediately sprang from the wake of his steps. Once again he left to check on them out of boredom, and had found a festering meadow. ]
You hardly need me to move for that. [ he replies with a slight scowl, now currently lounging on the bed. The point is that Alucard could change the sheets if he very well wanted to with only a thought.
There's a wine bottle filled with blood on the little nightstand. The ceaseless ache left him centuries ago, but he still craves the taste - even here, where he hardly has the same physical restrictions as he once did. ]
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He had, perhaps, let some of his newfound power and freedom go to his head. Some. But then - why shouldn't he have let it?
Four months is not nearly enough time for him to accept his fault in the matter. The remains of his once majestic domain have only just stopped smoldering where they crashed into the surface of Horizon.
He has, actually, moved in these four months. Once to visit the site, where poisonous flowers immediately sprang from the wake of his steps. Once again he left to check on them out of boredom, and had found a festering meadow. ]
You hardly need me to move for that. [ he replies with a slight scowl, now currently lounging on the bed. The point is that Alucard could change the sheets if he very well wanted to with only a thought.
There's a wine bottle filled with blood on the little nightstand. The ceaseless ache left him centuries ago, but he still craves the taste - even here, where he hardly has the same physical restrictions as he once did. ]