[ Gods. Astarion can't decide if he wants to kiss Iorveth for making this circus trip more interesting with theft, or slap him for suggesting Astarion touch a rotting, dismembered clown hand. Unable to agree with himself, he settles for huffing and folding his own arms across his chest. ]

It's only a kobold, [ he hisses, ] we could just stab it and take its things. Who would care?

[ Even as he says it, he knows someone would. There are Wyll Ravengards everywhere sympathizing with the plight of lesser beings. He groans. ]

Fine. You— [ He makes a vague hand gesture towards Iorveth. ] Do whatever it is that you need to do. I'll save the day with my light-fingered antics yet again.