[h3]Freagon, Irah, Lhirin, and Yanin – Bor Manor, Borstown[/h3]
Freagon listened attentively to the exchange between Caleb, Irah and Yanin, even though he appeared to be busy rummaging under the bed in search for his lost coin. It seemed that both the deigan and the human were convinced that the thalk was benign and not only claimed to be willing to let it go, but even offered it advice as to how it could leave unmolested. The nightwalker was still not convinced that there was not still some kind of deception in place and had a bad feeling about what “not wasting the body it had been given” might mean to it.
But he was not going to get in the way. Though he was not convinced that Caleb was benign, he was far from certain that he was malign, either. If they wanted to let the angel go that was fine by him; if it left it would no longer be a threat to Freagon, and since it had been the others' decision to let it go, any future victims would be their responsibility, not his. He still thought that the most reliable solution would be to simply slay the creature and be done with it, but he would humor these people. For now.

Still huddling in his corner, Caleb looked from Irah to Yanin as they spoke, listening in without a word. Once Yanin had offered his advice, however, the angel's silence was broken by a dry, mirthless laughter deep in his chest. It was a grim, cruel sound brought, about not by joy, but by agony.
“Sorry,” the thalk sighed once his laughter stilled. “I am both new to Rodoria and one of its oldest residents, though the decades I was here last were spent inside a small binding circle trapping me in a dark, forgotten basement. I have spent what would be lifetimes to your kind in this land, yet I know nothing about it.” He shook his head. “But it does not matter. I believe you, so I will stay. Please allow me to play a part in fulfilling Feevesha's final task; I will accompany you to deal with these so-called bandits.”

Finally, just as he was getting back up from retrieving his coin, Freagon was addressed by Irah. He continued listening to her in silence, with his only movement being that of putting the two rodlin back in his coinpurse.
[I]Escalation of hostilities?[/I] he thought, genuinely confused. [I]Who is... does she think I am hostile? Are they really that mad that I threw a coin at the creature? Damn it all, this is why I hate working with others...[/I]
Heaving a deep sigh, Freagon reached up, removed his helmet and tucked it under his left arm for temporary storage. Wearing the helmet had predictably made an even worse mess of his already messy hair, but otherwise it was undeniably a relief to get it off. It got hot in there, it limited his vision and made it a bit harder to breathe. It was a small sacrifice for making it much less likely that someone killed him with a single blow to his head, but wearing it was still uncomfortable.
“Examine as much as you like,” he offered with a shrug, his tone bored and disinterested. “I only know that other mages that have read my soul have been perplexed by it. As for the sword...” He glanced down at the sartal blade, hanging from his left hip in its scabbard. “The spirit was there before I got it. Feel free to get rid of it if you can and want, it's of no use to me anyway.”