It's days before he sees Zevlor's cloaked form grace the entryway of Sorcerous Sundries. Of dealing with Lorroakan's impossible standards and temper regarding his failure to suss out the Nightsong. The abuse doesn't get better, but there is a distracted air about the 'discipline' his mentor doles out. As if he isn't the one being punished, but all the adventuring parties coming in that get it wrong.

A weight settles in the pit of his stomach when they lock eyes, though Rolan's attention is very quickly drawn to the woman walking in stride with the older tiefling until she breaks off and heads for the staircase. Her presence is as big as she is, her feathered wings billowing behind her and demanding the attention of everyone around without a word. He knows he's openly gaping and closes his jaw with a snap when he realizes.

His attention is brought back to Zevlor at the sound of his name. The wizard's brow furrows in confusion, glancing back to the aasimar quickly. "I-- The Nightsong is a person?"

The pieces of the puzzle slot together, but the weight in his stomach feels heavier at the realization. He's seen the warding circle Lorroakan has in the library and hadn't questioned its true purpose. That monster intended to imprison the Nightsong-- a person-- for his own personal gain? His hands clench into fists atop the counter and his blood boils. Shaking his head, he scowls at the easy-out Zevlor offers. Of simply walking away as if he had seen nothing.

"Zurgan. You can't expect me to just sit by when I could help!" How could he think of turning a blind eye to this? It's the final straw and he wants to be around to see that Lorroakan can't simply do what he pleases while making everyone around him suffer.