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Summary
It was a grossly polished face. Not a cut, wrinkle, or blemish. Not one fit for an adventurer or a ruthless drow soldier, but rather a noble in Baldur's Gate. It was out of place on the body of a drow, almost like the face of a high elf was put onto a deep elf.
His several ear piercings and rings adorning his delicate fingers shone brilliantly, and his masterfully stitched clothing belonged nowhere near the wilderness. No doubt expensive, and no doubt things Astarion would take off of his dead body if this encounter came to that- part of him hoped that it did.