[ The stranger's confession that he'd inflicted such mutilation on himself gets a raised brow from Astarion. Honestly, he's not sure if he believes him. Sure, a person may tear at their own flesh in distress and even draw blood, but to rip down to the very bone itself? In his experience, one's mind can only countenance such an act when someone else is holding the reins.

Though, he considers, there are a few things for which he could fathom sacrificing a limb—even if it's difficult to imagine wielding the knife himself without someone else's will whispering in his ear. ]

It must've been quite a choice, [ Astarion says consideringly. ] Did you get anything out of it? I have to imagine it must've been something valuable to have been worth... [ he gestures to the wasted arm. ] all that.