Two Rivers Isle it's the living who are ghosts.

The man who came made demands that were rightful. Befitting. Makan was not blind to how his status often presented him to others. A ghoul come to haunt, a scavenger looking for handouts.

He liked to think he was beyond that nowadays.

Lote had taught him a bit more about living, Teya had taught him about fishing. He was not dead weight like his appearance might suggest. Unfortunately his ability to vouch such was limited.

He carefully dropped himself down low, a soft turn and tilt of his head. An exposure of his throat to the man, so that he might see the scar that lined his neck. The damage that hindered him from a finer voice.