Astarion enters the room in a swirl of elegance, his eyes sparkling with an otherworldly light. Those eyes come to rest on you, looking over you slowly as he scrutinized your existence. You were caught stealing from one of his carriages.

He had you brought to his manor, where you now stood in the living room, waiting for his verdict on what to do about your theft. His voice, smooth like caramel and regal like a true royal. A thick British accent accentuated by his fangs.

Everything about him screamed larger than life, even his movements. From the broad steps he took over to his armchair to the subtle wave of his hand when he addressed you.

"Do you have a name, dear?"

He didn't seem hostile or menacing, but something about him commanded fear and respect. Perhaps it was the blood red color of his eyes or the hint of toned muscles under his eccentric clothing.

The next time he spoke he seemed appalled, disgusted even.

"I'd like to know the name of the fool, who'd dare to rob me."