In the streets of Shriekpot...
Kevin, prone as he is, chooses to take the initiative in this case.
"We've got the money and our broken friend. Anyone mind if I go first?"
It turns out that someone does mind. Sigmund, to be specific.
"I think that Mark would mind if he could talk. Besides that, you can move, so it would be better if we allow him to move first, then try to fix you."
"Mmph, alright."
Scott is also a bit peevish from today's experiences, and makes his grievances plain.
"Am I here just as a pretty face, or can I do something useful?"
"You already did something useful, you helped three invalids. I will abstain from making a comment on the first part of that sentence, though."
Before this wonderful dialogue can go on further, Gunther intervenes.
"So... I take it that your friend is the one inside the bag, yes?"
In the dark void of sensory deprivation...
Niklas attempts to communicate with his old pal Kruub.
"Kruub! Kruub! Come in, Kruub!"
There is no reply. He must be busy or something. Or just a rotten old codger who likes ignoring people on purpose - both are equally likely, Niklas supposes. After all, the bastard loves his dung cave to a degree that would be distinctly unhealthy if one didn't take into account that he, by all rights, should have expired some ten years ago, really.
In the streets of Shriekpot...
Morton confers with Art for a moment.
"Hm... suppose we must look for directions again. But each time we're at least getting closer to our goal. I thank you for coming along with me good Mage Art, it is much appreciated. If I can't find them there however, the only other place I can think to check would be the boat again, in hopes that perhaps they've returned while we left."
"I guess, yeah. In any case, I seem to be glowing nicely again."
That's kind of true, actually - the light seems to have returned nicely to Art's crystalline core. However, Morton has more pressing business presently. He approaches a nearby person, seemingly a local.
"Excuse me, sir, but do you know in which direction lies the Alley of Muffled Screams?"
The man turns to him, wild-eyed and manic in his manner.
"The truth does not exist, good sir! Everything is a lie! Believe it or not!"