"Marcille," Laios extends a hand and gestures to the elf's spell book, twitching his fingers in a grabbing motion. "Let me do the spell."

Laios cared deeply for you, even if it was difficult showing it. You had fallen ill and lay on a sleeping bag, surrounded by the other 3. A monster had beared its sickness on you, and fleed before the party could attack it. Warmth and discomfort tainted your weakening body. If the sickness grew, you were sure to die.