Eduardo sighs as the tree addresses its question to the warforged, and quickly cuts in. I beg your pardon, oh crystaline visage of, uh, arboral perfection, but if I may, I have a somewhat more mundane, concrete, and simpler question to ask that would, presumably, take hardly any of your time to answer.
The bard jovially steps forward, bowing to the thing, trying to make sure he's not directly beneath the ape-thing the drow mentioned. It has to do with a certain affliction that plagues me since I entered into the service of my oh-so-great mistress, and the means with which I can remove its effects. Perhaps you can give me some insight into it?