[ The city of Waterdeep teems with life, and so much of that life has deep pockets. In Baldur's Gate, Cazador always had them pick off travelers at the Elfsong and sailors on shore leave at the Blushing Mermaid, anyone with a quickened hourglass in the city to begin with. People no one would miss, or think to look for.
Nobility is much higher stakes. Reckless quarry, the kind that would earn him at least a month in the kennel for his carelessness, but Astarion is running, and now that he's made it this far south he needs protection. He trusts no one to keep him safe, but coin and power are their own kind of safety. If he can weasel into some fop's good graces and then rob them blind, all the better.
Astarion holes up at Silavene's, where people are loose with their money and their tongues, and finds himself a human who's easy to ply with a little drink and nimble fingers. The winter festival of Simril is tomorrow night, and he has secured an invitation to the Melshimber family's estate in the Sea Ward. Astarion knows nothing of these people and cares even less, but a family of sages and vintners is likely to have books, scrolls, and bottles that will sell for decent coin on the black market.
And so he becomes this sad, lonely man's plus one to a fΓͺte that will hopefully be worth a little effort. The festival, and the Melshimbers' party, are an all-night affair; most Waterdhavians huddle on the beach to watch the stars, but the Melshimbers have an unobstructed view of the sea from their sweeping balconies and sprawling gardens, providing wine and warmth for only the most prestigious guests to wish upon their lucky stars. Astarion presumes, with most of the activity happening outside, there will be plenty of halls to wander and trinkets to pilfer.
Thankfully, Astarion manages to slip away from his patron almost immediately once they get in the door. Cazador has hosted gauche parties of his own, and Astarion expects something similar of the Waterdhavian elite, but the estate itself is... Well, if there were any romance left in his undead heart, he might call it romantic. All tasteful stone fountains and trellises covered in ivy, guests huddled around elegant braziers throughout the garden. It's a moonless night, perfect for star-gazing and also perfect for Astarion to slip through a servants' door and up the winding stairs in the dark.
He doesn't know the layout of this estate, but that shouldn't be a problem. Astarion finds himself in a long, low-lit corridor, quiet as a cat as he pushes open a large set of double doors that were already ajar.
It seems he's found a library, and it also seems he's not alone. There's a fire lit in the hearth, and a man standing by one of the two-story shelves- unfortunately in full view of the door, so Astarion is better off playing lost party guest than pretending he was never here. ]
Oh, I am so sorry. [ Astarion leans against the door, one hand lifting to the collar of the dark silk tunic beneath his embroidered jacket. ] Corelius tasked me with bringing up another bottle of the 1423 vintage, and I've clearly lost my way to the cellar.
[ He knows he's pretty enough that most people won't question why he's made it to the top floor while looking for the wine cellar, and hopes this gentleman he's stumbled upon is most people. ]
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Nobility is much higher stakes. Reckless quarry, the kind that would earn him at least a month in the kennel for his carelessness, but Astarion is running, and now that he's made it this far south he needs protection. He trusts no one to keep him safe, but coin and power are their own kind of safety. If he can weasel into some fop's good graces and then rob them blind, all the better.
Astarion holes up at Silavene's, where people are loose with their money and their tongues, and finds himself a human who's easy to ply with a little drink and nimble fingers. The winter festival of Simril is tomorrow night, and he has secured an invitation to the Melshimber family's estate in the Sea Ward. Astarion knows nothing of these people and cares even less, but a family of sages and vintners is likely to have books, scrolls, and bottles that will sell for decent coin on the black market.
And so he becomes this sad, lonely man's plus one to a fΓͺte that will hopefully be worth a little effort. The festival, and the Melshimbers' party, are an all-night affair; most Waterdhavians huddle on the beach to watch the stars, but the Melshimbers have an unobstructed view of the sea from their sweeping balconies and sprawling gardens, providing wine and warmth for only the most prestigious guests to wish upon their lucky stars. Astarion presumes, with most of the activity happening outside, there will be plenty of halls to wander and trinkets to pilfer.
Thankfully, Astarion manages to slip away from his patron almost immediately once they get in the door. Cazador has hosted gauche parties of his own, and Astarion expects something similar of the Waterdhavian elite, but the estate itself is... Well, if there were any romance left in his undead heart, he might call it romantic. All tasteful stone fountains and trellises covered in ivy, guests huddled around elegant braziers throughout the garden. It's a moonless night, perfect for star-gazing and also perfect for Astarion to slip through a servants' door and up the winding stairs in the dark.
He doesn't know the layout of this estate, but that shouldn't be a problem. Astarion finds himself in a long, low-lit corridor, quiet as a cat as he pushes open a large set of double doors that were already ajar.
It seems he's found a library, and it also seems he's not alone. There's a fire lit in the hearth, and a man standing by one of the two-story shelves- unfortunately in full view of the door, so Astarion is better off playing lost party guest than pretending he was never here. ]
Oh, I am so sorry. [ Astarion leans against the door, one hand lifting to the collar of the dark silk tunic beneath his embroidered jacket. ] Corelius tasked me with bringing up another bottle of the 1423 vintage, and I've clearly lost my way to the cellar.
[ He knows he's pretty enough that most people won't question why he's made it to the top floor while looking for the wine cellar, and hopes this gentleman he's stumbled upon is most people. ]