[Orin barely moves from his dagger, almost seeming to invite it.]

You tell your leader that should they want to see their failed Chosen again, then it's their blood the Murder Lord demands, spilled upon the altar of his temple to slake his lust. But I will tell you a secret, ratling: I am not so patient. His blood would make a poor offering, but it slicks my blade all the same.

[And with that, she swings her dagger upward to catch Astarion's, turning her head to dodge the blades should they collide.]