...compassion?

"No. I refuse. This is my mind, understand? Mine!"

It is... but it should not be. He should be punished for it, for this hatred and this, this independence. He should... bow. He should bow to his true master, and... provide the sustenance it needs to thrive. His life is nothing, means nothing, before the mighty creature before him.

"Do you think you're clever? Better men than you have tried this and failed. And you." He steps on the flayer's exposed brain hard enough to squeeze. "Are." He does it again. "Not." Again. "Good enough." Again and again and again and again until there's nothing recognisable left of the creature's head, only a bloody tentacled mess.

The grip on Shadowheart's mind is released as soon as it is on Astarion's and she watches, impassively, as the elf does... the only correct thing to do in this situation, really.

"Death is too good for it."

He turns around and stalks off in a random direction. "Let's leave. The gith will not be here."

Yeah. Fair enough. She jogs to catch up with him.

When she does he is stripping some dead goblins of their valuables. They were killed by the crash, but through sheer luck they did not get entirely carbonised, and soon enough Astarion is in possession of a crossbow and a few bolts.

"Much better," he says, his erstwhile cheer returning. "I much prefer not to be in close quarters if I can help it."

"...what's that?"

"What?"

A strange magical disturbance on the rock face a short walk east. It looks like a... portal of some kind? And an arm is coming out of it and waving uselessly.

"...that looks like a trap."

"A trap? For us?"

"...well, I suppose not."

Shadowheart carefully walks over to it, weapons in hand and an incantation at the tip of her tongue.

"I heard that! I hear you! Hello? Some help, please?"

"...what?"

"I heard that too! I'm just, I'm stuck! I just need someone to pull me free!"

Shadowheart starts to reach towards the hand—

—but Astarion places a hand on her chest. "Don't grab the hand of some mysteriously 'stuck' interdimensional traveler. I'm very fond of you and don't want to see you die."

"...you're right."

"—what? No, he's not! I'm just a guy! I just need some help!"

"You got yourself into whatever... situation you're in. You can get yourself out of it."

And without further ado he turns around and walks away.

"Wait, no, please! I need help, I need someone, please!"

No, the elf was right, this is far too suspicious and they have no reason to get involved in this. It's not their problem.

"...these tracks," she says, instead, looking at the dirt. "Someone walked this way. Those are boot prints, and... heavy. Could be the githyanki."

Astarion ignores the continued pleading of whomever and looks at where Shadowheart's looking. "...I suppose I see it. And I also suppose you'll be better than I am at following these tracks."