Neilraw evaluates his situation - the Yellow swarm, the fittingly named strange force that leaves only destruction and fear in it's wake, is on the verge of ripping the town apart, including himself and the reliquary. it will certainly destroy every trace of Dynafel if left unchecked. in order to stop it, he must undergo a painful procedure that might kill him.
might; a word which implies potential alongside uncertainty.
he might be able to stop the yellow swarm, he might lose his allies, if not his own life. he might be made a hero if he and the others could stop the swarm, but Narla's assessment of the dream world MIGHT be entirely incorrect, it just might...
so many variables, so much uncertainty opposing certain demise, Neilraw winces physically, mentally, and mechanically at his difficult oversight as his right arm jerks up along with the right side of his face. he immediately recovers from it though. this time.
"Sorry, it happens every now and again. it's a nervous tick." he shrugs it off casually. "It sounds like a very risky procedure, but I don't think the Yellow swarm will wait for a foolproof one." Neilraw proceeds to state the obvious. "have you any advice for us once we reach the other side, O, Aeon Priestess?" he inquires without so much as a hint of cynicism.