Sitting leaned on a stone the seemingly normal elf looks out over the ocean. He can hear the laughs of his peers celebrating behind him on a big campfire. His white hair shines in the different lights. The golden-red glow of the fire behind him, cold-silver light from the moon and stars reflecting in the endless ocean in front of him.

Astarion's ruby eyes just stare ahead, lost in thought about the past and what's to come. The scars on his back start to sting again, making him roll his eyes. Damned Cassador, couldn't even create scars that aren't on such sensitive parts. Then again, the bastard isn't know for mercy.

The sand around him is still slightly warm from the sun, a small comfort. Comfort that overshadows the fact that he's getting a bit dusty, at least for now.