[ Gortash can't rightly be called a 'boy' when he looks more like a washed-up old man clinging to the vestiges of his youth, but Astarion keeps that thought to himself. Instead, he nods at the question, eager to take the chance to explain Iorveth's injury on something more innocent than being cornered by a Flaming Fist who hoped to arrest them. ]

Ugh, those hunks of metal can barely walk in a straight line without malfunctioning. It... must have mistaken us for some awful criminals. There are so many nowadays.

[ Kurug and the old woman gather around the bed, peering down at Iorveth with worry in their eyes. Strange; Astarion wouldn't care if a stranger was bleeding out, but he can't detect any deceit to their concern. With a sympathetic frown, the woman says, "Now, it might be a little uncomfortable when I'm putting it on, but I promise it'll soothe in only a moment."

Carefully, with gentle touches, she begins to apply the poultice. Astarion watches uselessly, fingers twitching with the desire to do something but his mind uncooperative. He's usually trying to get the blood out of people, not keep it inside. The awful feeling of helplessness swirls in his gut, and he crosses his arms over his chest in discomfort. ]