[Oh, that laugh. That smile, sweet and startled all at once, so small you might miss it if you weren't watching carefully. His heart warms to see it, though he won't be so foolish as to draw attention to it. Instead: he smiles to himself, just as small and soft as Astarion's own, and takes his other hand.]
A small geopolitical lesson, then, to start. Tevinter— the country I hail from, as does Corypheus— is the only country in Thedas that still actively buys and sells slaves, and it is from the Empire that all slaves inevitably hail.
[Later, when they are closer, he will repeat this conversation, his fingertips tracing the pathways along Astarion's palm. But they aren't what they will be, and right now, his demonstration is only verbal.]
There is one main route into the Empire: the Imperial Highway. That has only a few main roads that connect to it, and thus, only a few ways slavers, burdened with numerous captives, might go.
[His hands are endlessly patient as he wipes away blood and dirt, revealing a pale palm beneath all the grime. His eyes flick up as Fenris offers Astarion another smile, this one with a sharper edge.]
My cause, such as it is, is to free those en-route to Tevinter— and slaughter every slaver and accomplice while I'm at it.
[And there's no mistaking the bloodthirsty relish with which he says that.]
My success rate is considerable. They know to fear me now, for I am a terror to them all— though it does mean that the guards and mercenaries that they all inevitably hire to accompany them on their routes have grown in size and viciousness.
Not enough, though. Not yet.
[A moment, and he adds:]
It does not solve everything. Cut off one serpant's head and four more arise in their place, for there is little people will not stoop to for the right price. But it makes a difference, and that is enough for now.
no subject
A small geopolitical lesson, then, to start. Tevinter— the country I hail from, as does Corypheus— is the only country in Thedas that still actively buys and sells slaves, and it is from the Empire that all slaves inevitably hail.
[Later, when they are closer, he will repeat this conversation, his fingertips tracing the pathways along Astarion's palm. But they aren't what they will be, and right now, his demonstration is only verbal.]
There is one main route into the Empire: the Imperial Highway. That has only a few main roads that connect to it, and thus, only a few ways slavers, burdened with numerous captives, might go.
[His hands are endlessly patient as he wipes away blood and dirt, revealing a pale palm beneath all the grime. His eyes flick up as Fenris offers Astarion another smile, this one with a sharper edge.]
My cause, such as it is, is to free those en-route to Tevinter— and slaughter every slaver and accomplice while I'm at it.
[And there's no mistaking the bloodthirsty relish with which he says that.]
My success rate is considerable. They know to fear me now, for I am a terror to them all— though it does mean that the guards and mercenaries that they all inevitably hire to accompany them on their routes have grown in size and viciousness.
Not enough, though. Not yet.
[A moment, and he adds:]
It does not solve everything. Cut off one serpant's head and four more arise in their place, for there is little people will not stoop to for the right price. But it makes a difference, and that is enough for now.