"Bhaalspawn," Astarion mutters, keeping his eyes trained on the rows of wooden seats lining the audience hall---anything but look at you. You, a disgrace to the peace that this world's inhabitants search for. Even Astarion, a notoriously troubled man who's more of a cynic than a Samaritan, finds your issue...well...

He's not pleased. None of your companions are. Finding out that they're traveling with someone who had started this entire problem in the first place---one of the three Chosens who made up this Absolute. You're one of the reasons everyone here has that parasitic tadpole in their head, after all. Karlach won't speak to you. Gale is similarly angry. Wyll, Shadowheart, both uneasy around you. Lae'zel, on her guard, a sword wielded readily just in case...

And Astarion. The man who won't quite renounce you---but looks upon you with the distrust you know too well.

"So that's what it was," He continues, exasperation evident. "All this bloodshed and fretting---because of you. We might become mindflayers within days. I suppose you're the cause, aren't you? At least, part of it."