Maesyn dismisses his alter self spell as Kessessek comes in, tired of explaining his form, and feeling it might wear off soon on its own anyway.

"Kessessek, you will need that wand to serve your people. We have others like it. Perhaps you should keep it," Maesyn suggests.

He then turns his attention to Mhair. "Let me make this simple for you, since you're just an easy-going, simple fellow. Kessessek here is going to cast a spell that makes it impossible for you -- or any of us, for that matter -- to lie. If you've been telling us the truth, this shouldn't pose a problem for you. Then we're going to ask you some questions."

Maesyn turns away and looks upward, though not at anything in particular. "If your answers provide us with some measure of comfort, some assurance that events will not repeat themselves, and some information that can help the good people of Cormyr and Faerun... then we will protect your life."

The bard looks down, as if saddened. "If, on the other hand, you have no such answers for us, then we would no longer have any reason not to turn you over to the custody of this Lizardfolk tribe, to extract whatever measures of justice and/or retribution they see fit."

He then turns back to the prisoner, eyes flashing. "Do you understand?"


Maesyn Silverhair