[h3]Freagon, Irah, Lhirin, and Yanin – Bor Manor, Borstown[/h3]
“Not yet,” Caleb replied when Yanin asked whether he intended to return to Drigall, “nor could you stop me if that had been my intent. Feevesha sacrificed herself to bring me here, and I will not waste the body she gave me by letting it turn to dust without doing anything worthwhile. I will return willingly to exile eventually, but not yet.”
The fallen, vaguely Melenian-like thalk seemed to pause at this, clearly had something more on his mind, but allowed himself to be distracted by Yanin asking about the spirit in Freagon's sword.
“A mundane,” he declared after just a moment's hesitation. “It feels... odd. Undead, yet not. [I]Very[/I] powerful.”

With that out of the way, Caleb seemed to return to his previous question: “May I simply walk out of here? Leave this building, leave this... is this a town?” He glanced out the window next to him as if only now becoming aware that there was a world outside these walls. When he looked back, his eyes, sharp, wide and attentive, shifted rapidly from Freagon to Yanin, to Irah, to Freagon and back to Yanin. “You say you will not kill me if I do not cause undue harm and that you do not wish to use me as a slave or a tool. If so, if I tried to leave, would you stop me?”