"As for you personally, they brought you in here a few hours ago, unconscious. I do not know what exactly they want from you, but I do know this. You still have your magic. Protect it. Protect yourself, and don't tell them anything! Not a word! If you speak to them, they can steal your magic." Dweezil settles back now. He has finished his story. "I suppose you think me a raving lunatic now," the satyr says with a smirk.
"No, not at all," you protest.
"Don't try to be nice. I know that's what you're thinking. It's probably true. But it felt good to tell the truth to someone I can trust, for once." Dweezil smiles.
"Thank you for telling me your tale," you reply, glad to see a smile on his sad face.
What do you do now?