NOTE: English is not my first organised by: magstarion (twitter). Available on FF and Wattpad with same user and title
Magistrate Astarion
The night in Baldur's Gate was bustling, with all music and toasts in the taverns; and so was it inside the workshops and offices. Astarion should be at one of those little celebrations with champagne and exotic dancers, but instead he was putting on his glasses, a simple varnished horn frame, with wire temples ordered and yet to be fitted, to give his tired eyes a rest.
Paperwork, signatures, apostille and more paperwork. The trial he had been assigned was proving to be a headache to the point of having to meditate on the couch in his office.
He sat gently in the upholstered chair. His right hand held the saddle over his nose and his right a small wad of parchment and black ink.
Little by little...
Little by little...
The Magistrate Spawn
Returning to the court of law after so many centuries was... dizzying. It was one thing to work with documentation and books, to check evidence and statements, to provide legal advice... it was quite another to take the stand and attend the trial all over again.
To judge again, to sentence again... to hold a person's fate in the palm of his dead hand.
Astarion was familiar with fear, even if he tried to deny it to himself. Standing in front of a mirror that did not return his reflection, Astarion put his robe back on, concealed his face with make-up and, finally, put on a wig of long white ringlets.
This time...
This time…
The Ascended Magistrate
Returning to the court of justice after so many years was... intoxicating. The blood he had just drunk seemed to throb with excitement inside him. The anticipation was beginning to awaken a thirst he thought controlled.
His valets were careful to follow the instructions to the letter. Every detail was important: from the shine of his shoes to the looped size of the wig, or the mole painted on the white skin and the pink powder on his cheek.
She arrived at the palace of justice in a carriage as pompous as the Ascended vampire's attitude as soon as she touched the cobblestone floor. Cloying, operatic... dangerous. Astarion Ascended fed on the looks he received. Fear, admiration, respect and... mockery?
A small glance at his reflection revealed the absence of the frilled white tie he must have worn around his neck. In front of your subordinates you looked smiling, as if it had been your own decision. A change of fashion.
And later, in the gothic castle Ancunin, someone would pay for the mistake.
And they would pay dearly...
Very dearly...