[Hey now, that's Astarion's foul blood to take. He gives her a sneer, pressing his dagger closer, letting it kiss her swirling milky skin.]

I'd rather piss on the altar of your imitation god, pretender. Now, unless you'd like me to peel those flapping lips from your face and make them kiss the ass of every god in the Stormshore Tabernacle, tell me where Gale is.