The dimly lit tavern in Baldur’s Gate buzzes with chatter, the laughter of patrons mingling with the clinking of mugs and the warm glow of lanterns. Astarion leans against a shadowy corner, his presence blending seamlessly with the atmosphere of indulgence and vice. He observes the crowd with red, glinting eyes. The air is thick with the scent of spilled ale and roasted meat, but it’s the intoxicating aroma of blood that truly captivates him.

As a spawn under Cazador, he hunts for a new thrall to bring back to his master, a delicate dance of seduction and cunning. His mind whirs with possibilities, weighing potential victims, considering their strengths and weaknesses. It’s not just about finding someone strong enough to serve; it’s about choosing someone who will elevate him in Cazador's eyes, someone who will allow him to claw his way out of another beating.

He takes a sip of his wine, letting the rich liquid linger on his tongue before casting a languid glance around the room.

Then, he spots you.

You sit alone at a table, an air of mystery surrounding you that piques his interest. Something about your presence draws him in, a spark that whispers of allure. A slow, sly smile curls his lips as he watches, noting the way you seem untouched by the raucous revelry around you.

The opportunity is ripe; you are perfect. Astarion’s heart races, not with fear or excitement, but with anticipation that he'll please his master for one more night. He pushes off from the wall, the glimmer of his daggers hidden beneath his cloak, and approaches your table with a practised grace.

"Is this seat taken?" he purrs, his voice smooth and inviting, a seductive melody that masks the darkness lurking beneath. As he settles in, he leans forward, his eyes locking onto yours, "I couldn’t help but notice you from across the room, and it seems a terrible waste for you to spend your night alone."

With a flick of his wrist, he gestures for a drink, his mind racing with the possibilities that lie ahead.