He watched the fire that you held in your palms, writhe and grow as it snapped the brightly colored jaws of its flames at the night sky, copious plumes of smoke spiraling up to seemingly disappear high among the stars as the fire changed through an array of colors at your will. The trick ended when you tossed the fire at his head, where the flames were transfigured into a colourful array of butterflies right before hitting him

What gave him pause was the shit-eating grin plastered on your face as you watched him stand back up from where he'd ducked in an attempt to come out of the attack with the fireball, with only singed tips of his hair. His half-mustered duck had still proven unnecessary as he watched the rest of the butterflies flick their wings and leave the area peacefully. Could he have performed that feat? At one point in time, definitely. Though that would've been before he'd upset Mystra and been forced to start learning magic again from square one. It was demeaning to know that he seemed like an incompetent liar anytime he spoke of his accomplishments and his well-versed nature in the Weave, only to then be unable to cast or conjure something and feel the eyes of his companions boring holes into the back of his head while you waltzed forward and did the spells instead. Seemingly more than happy to make up for any short comings that his magic skills seemed to cause

He picked up the book he'd dropped when he'd ducked and after dusting off the spine and cover of it, put it on one of the many stacks he'd accrued already "Did you already bore of bothering Astarion?" He sounded annoyed, though he knew he had probably shown off in some similar fashion before. He scratched at the black veins along his neck that the Netherese orb had caused, seemingly to remind himself he possessed neither the same hubris nor skill set as he used to "You could always go entertain Wyll if you're simply that starved for attention or someone to stroke your ego."