[ The terrain warps beneath his feet. Impossible to tell whether this will serve or trouble him, in the long run. He closes his fist around the necklace, heedless desire coursing through him. From there, he can confirm its specific mechanics of power by taction alone.

(The command is set to stun. Their corpse must have been an enforcer. Fascinating.)

It takes a moment for him to register that Astarion may possess two items of use, distracted by the bird in hand. ]

And what of this? [ He tugs on the chain to the point that Astarion will have to follow his grip, reeled closer, if he doesn’t wish to test the metal’s strength. Any sudden movements risk breaking the clasp and relinquishing power to Gale. ]

I fed you willingly. Generously. [ At first, his voice lowers to a whisper, matching Astarion’s, but his unease ratchets it higher, sharper. ] And now I’m to trust you won’t scurry away with the most filling thing I’ve seen since we crashed in the middle-of-gods-forsaken-nowhere — that you’ve a suitable alternative — [ A ragged inhale. Getting worked up ends one way (and offending Astarion shuts off future supply). His voice drops again. ]

You understand my hesitation. [ He does focus on Astarion himself, then, searching for anything that inspires trust. ]