You tell Silvanus to keep all the details of the bandit attack memorized. Be it by his own hand or the local militia's, these bandits need to be brought to justice. No one else should have to suffer like he has. That should be the first priority…channel that anger into change, don't give in to despair. Only in ending their lives can he go on with his.
Silvanus nods grimly and straightens his back from its previously slouching position. "I may have mistook you, Ronald Dunhall. You are perhaps…you are right. I will not let my family's deaths be rendered pointless. I will enact revenge."
"Well, now that that's settled," Bregan pipes in, ready to get a move on, "Ronald Dunhall and I best be heading off. Good luck on the…er, recovery." You're far more reluctant to go, but you do have a wedding to prepare for. You only hope the food will be worth the long, drawn-out ordeal. Right as you're about to leave, however…
A muttered whisper, spoken like it was meant only for your ears to hear: "Protations four, chapter seven, sentence ten."
Unfortunately, before you can even begin to make out whatever the heck Silvanus is talking about, Bregan yanks you out of the healer's abode. The two of you briskly walk away in temporary quiet. It isn't much of a guess what's going to happen next, but you take solace in at least being out of Silvanus's hearing distance. The redhead—as always—lets you know exactly how he feels about him.
"Talk about weird, poor sap though. Gives off a strange vibe, and I'm not sure it's the good kind. What's your call on 'em?" Bregan asks like he couldn't care less, though you know your old friend well enough to know that he doesn't do anything without caring. What is your call, by the way?