|Regariel of Greengold|
Regariel's keen ears have no trouble picking up the pertinent details of Sparrow and Markon's discussion. As he listens, he feels torn between frustration and sympathy. He certainly can't wish for Bort to take a turn for the worse, not after fighting so hard to save the dwarf's life, but he too has a pressing duty, delayed by their journey's interruption. A duty to his great uncle Iznarael, and hopefully, hopefully to his cousin Isandlara.
"You have spent too much time among the transient races, Regariel." He can hear his uncle's dry, crisp tones in memory. "Isa may need finding, but I doubt she needs rescuing. Take whatever time you need to attend to your task with a clear head."
Of course, unlike Sparrow and Markon, he can in theory fit all his belongings into his pack and strike out on his own for Almas, and from there to Absalom.
Bort's unchanged condition and Tamli's concern put any such ideas well on hold. At the dinner table, Reg drops into the chair opposite Sparrow's with a sigh of his own. For a 'podunk town,' Etran's Folly seems to have more than its share of odd goings-on.
"So," he says to his companions, "what shall we try next? We seem to have a dearth of threads leading back to 'V' and whatever vile plans they literally have brewing."
He rubs the bridge of his nose, trying to tweeze ideas out of a very tired brain. "Hallod dead, Bort incapacitated ... if we could somehow find out what reagents the brute purchased on V's behalf aside from the corpse blood, we might be able to work out what they plan to do with them. Aside from that, I'm open to suggestions."