"Well certainly, Fury. What are you waiting for?" says Neville as he stands in front of the warforged, his arm sweeping out in a welcoming manner towards the foreboding staircase. After an uncomfortable silence, and a few quizzical looks from the construct and others, Neville ejaculates, "I jest!"
He chuckles to himself like someone's father laughing at his own humor, and finishing with more of his motherly concern, "Really Fury, you should stand back." After seeing Neville perplexed with previous 'magickal' encounters, it becomes obvious that this whole situation is making the old man nervous.
"Right." he says, "This being of a completely arcane nature, I think that Bale has shown his resilience to such things. You or the ever plucky Azreal would be the safest in such a venture. And Amo...er, Liera is it? Right. If you would be so kind as well? If indeed...that is...what...you....do." he says, realizing again that he knows less of Amon's skills than even the tongue-tied Bale.