[Nausea is one of those feelings that he thought would go away. It didn't. It doesn't. In fact, Astarion would argue that he's felt sick more in the past 200 years than at any point in his life prior.

Suffice to say, feeling nauseous upon waking is not the thing that bothers him. It's the fact that he is entirely naked and, as far as he can tell, alone. Perhaps the latter is for the best. There is no one to see his momentary panic when he realizes there is--nothing familiar here.

Really he would prefer to stop waking up in unknown places with little memory of how he arrived there. It's only happened a few times in his life but surely that is far too many. The walk helps to clear his head, and when he comes across the first large patch of unbroken sunlight, Astarion tentatively steps into it. No burning. Well, there's that at least.

Astarion moves cautiously through the unfamiliar woods. He only stops to examine a mutilated animal carcass of some kind, and it takes a moment to identify what it might have been. As far as he can tell, it hasn't been eaten, just torn apart.]

Well, that's somewhat disconcerting... What happened to you, my flayed friend?

[He trails off, looking further into the woods. There is certainly something watching. Astarion gets up slowly and continues on, absently licking the wet (and cold) blood from his fingers. He keeps his attention on the skeletal thing that was watching him, but it seems like it won't come closer. Thank the gods for tiny, miniscule, almost insignificant miracles.

When he arrives at a cheerful-looking stream, he crouches down and splashes could water on his face.]

Hells, [he hisses.] I suppose it was too much to hope for a hot spring. Or a divan draped with warm blankets and people waiting to feed me grapes and rub my feet.

[His gaze cuts up as soon as he spots movement on the other side of the stream. Ah, good. There are other people here.]

Unless you're up for the job, darling.

[Astarion can't decide if he's thrilled to see signs of civilization or disappointed. A little of both, if he's honest. It looks like an established town, but it's hardly a city, now is it? Much harder to disappear in. Much harder to go unnoticed in.

Places like this make him think of torches and pitchforks. He'll have to make the best of it.

The pale elf keeps his chin up as he strides past the gates, ignoring how exposed he feels with the scars on his back just there for the world to see. Hardly the first time. And he doubts it will be the last. Still, the sooner he finds something - a blanket, rags, a generously sized cup or bowl - the better. It isn't difficult to find people selling blankets and cloaks. Astarion offers the only thing he has to pay for one: himself. Perhaps it means disappearing into an alley or ducking beneath a counter, but one way or another he gets what he needs.

The people are... surprisingly welcoming. No one is staring, nor is anyone ridiculing. It isn't difficult to find someone who will point him to the boarding house. He accepts whatever clothes he can find - a simple pair of trousers and tunic - and by the time the communal dinner is served he's feeling slightly more himself.

All that's left to do is find a room. And something he can eat, but there are probably rats no one will miss. He'll deal with that later.]

Now then, who has some room in a bed or on their floor? I'm willing to make it worth your while - I can be a very agreeable roommate.

[It's a miserable existence, but at least he's free. He's spent the last few weeks finding things to eat where he can. He sticks to vermin, animals that people won't miss: rats, pigeons. The livestock is terribly tempting, but he manages to keep himself under control. He would hunt larger game but... that's off the table for now. He isn't strong enough now.

The hardest part is when people are asleep in the boarding house. He slips into the room he's sharing and he can hear their hearts beating, blood pumping just beneath the surface. One night he bites his own arm to keep from going for his sleeping roommate(s). He will not.

He goes on like that. Until he can't.

Astarion attempts to barricade himself in a room, or in a cellar, or anywhere that he might be able to keep walls between himself and people. His fangs elongate, his entire jaw aches. The hunger he feels is worse than anything he's endured before, his stomach twisted in knots like it might try to eat itself to find some satisfaction. Well-manicured nails grow into claws and he can feel pressure in his back. He can only scream when the wings break free.

He barely hears someone banging on the door over the cracking of his own bones, but he does hear it.]

Please, [he whispers, voice cracking.] Please no, no--GO AWAY!

[I'm happy to match style! If you prefer prose, go for it. I welcome wildcards of all kinds! If you're interested in the transformation prompt, we can figure out how violent we'd like it to be/how far you want it to go. Or we can just roll with it - I'm fine with going hard. If he kills someone, he'll have to live with it.

Info/Warnings; PM or ping me at givemedragons

Astarion is a vampire and he will be doing his best to hide this fact for as long as he can. Those who are aware of things like that are welcome to clock him. He has large scars on his back. I can avoid spoilers for the game, he's from an early point.]