Moonspear Meet the family

It seemed he wasn't going to get out of this one unscathed. He was far from a storyteller, unable to recall if he had ever truly been told a story. If he had, then it was possible that he was so young that now it was trivial to try and remember the details. Funny how the repression of the past went, how any morsel of good was buried beneath the hefty sum of trial and tribulation. The only thing he could think to make a story out of were his own experiences, and suddenly found himself hesitant to share them.

"So you do have a taste for the grim tales," he surmised instead, stalling.

How could he tell such a tale? A thoughtful sound lodged itself in his throat then.

"It's a shame I'm not a storyteller. I'm not sure I'd know where to begin. What would you prefer to hear about it?" It seemed easiest to simply let questions come to him, to weave a tale in a way that he knew how, a way that he preferred. But that was only presuming that his lightly speckled company would even take the bait, and that he could not even begin to predict.