"Halsin? I'm afraid he didn't make it back from Aradin's expedition," he says, giving the gate the human just left the Grove through a dirty look.

"...no, I'm not familiar with that name, but now I'm curious as to why he came to mind as quickly as that."

Lae'zel twitches a bit, looking like she's about to say something—but then she reconsiders, and keeps her peace.

"Oh? He's a renowned healer, and the leader of this group. Or he was, now the gods only know if he's even still alive."

"I see. But no, we were looking for a man named Zorru, who might know something of interest to us."

"I see. He is one of my people; I can take you to him, as thanks."

"That would be most appreciated."

So Zevlor starts to lead the way further into the camp.

And Astarion looks over his shoulder and mouths a "thank you" to Lae'zel.

She narrows her eyes in suspicion and doesn't answer.

Shadowheart just follows, quietly.

"Out of curiosity, what are your people doing here, Zevlor?"

"We're refugees, from Elturel; we took shelter here after gnolls attacked us on the road. We were bound for Baldur's Gate, and it was too late to turn back. Elturel has no place for tieflings after the Descent."

"...'the Descent'. That sounded like it had a capital letter."

"I would've thought everyone had heard of it by now. The High Overseer, our grand protector, signed a pact with devils which dragged all of Elturel straight to Hell. A group of adventurers found a way to bring the city back, but after that people just looked at us and saw 'devilkin'. Not much different from the druids here, truth be told, and that is why they're closing this place off from the outside world."

"Closing it off?"

"They are preparing a ritual which will seal it away, kick all outsiders out, and not let anyone else in. And... we're city folk. We're not fighters. We lost enough people on our way here, I shudder to think what will happen if we leave. But we have little choice."

And not at all his problem.

"I'm sorry about all of this. I wish I could help."

"You have helped more than enough." He leads the way into the combination of natural open-air caverns and ruined construction that decorates this "grove" that is not really a grove down a packed-earth path past makeshift tents and hastily-built wooden structures for the refugees until he gets to a little thatch-roofed ramshackle cottage in front of which is another tiefling. "Zorru, these people were looking for you, I believe."

    "Hello, I—oh by Mordai's eyes, another one," he says, going from warmth to abject terror as soon as he lays eyes on Lae'zel. "My f-friend's blood not enough? Come to rip me open, too?"

"...what's this?" asks Zevlor, catching wind that there is... something more going on than he'd expected.

    "Is this m-monster with you?" Zorru asks of Zevlor.

"In crèche K'liir," Lae'zel hisses, "a formal greeting begins with a bow."

"Lae'zel, darling, please leave the talking to me."

"...this man holds the information we need! This is no time to waste with your morals."

"My morals have nothing to do with this, dear, I am just much better than you at having conversations. Now stand. Down."

"K'chakhi! Fine."

"Apologies for this," he says to Zorru. "She will not hurt you."