As far as Zevlor is concerned, there may as well be no one else in the room, adventurer or otherwise. His tunnel vision could cause trouble, should someone else seek to check out with their purchases, but the coast is clear for the moment, luckily. He manages, just barely, not to shrink beneath the hood at Rolan's hissed question. Instead, he deliberately straightens his spine and tilts his chin up to let the light fall on his face. Then, as an afterthought, he places both hands on the counter, to show they're bare and weapon-free. Not that Rolan has any real reason to worry about any customer lashing out, but...well. This is almost like a parley, at least in Zevlor's head.

"I owe you." He answers simply. It's true--any lives that were saved after Zevlor's failure can be ascribed to Rolan, Cerys, and the timely intervention of the Harpers--but also, it's the best opening he can think of. "I made a promise which I failed to keep, and you did what I could not. I at least wanted you to know I'm grateful, and aware of my debt."

"I'm catching wind of some political undercurrents," he adds, trying to get out everything he has to say before the other tiefling blows up and/or has a set of animated armor fling him into the street, but a second look at Rolan's face makes him trail off.

Yes, the journey to the Gate was beyond rough. It might make sense for him to be a little battered in transit, but surely a wizard in the employ of a wizard can scrape up a healing potion. That, and Zevlor is excruciatingly familiar with battlefield triage. He knows new wounds when he sees them. These bruises are a day old or less.

"...Rolan, who did this?"