Moonspear long in tooth and soul

Somehow he kept the scoff he so very much wanted to bring out. It lodged itself in his throat like a bad piece of bone too stubborn to turn just right, and had he been of a lesser will he would have choked on the idea. Would have liked you in time, oh, he had heard that before. It once would have made his blood boil, but now...

Dirge had no word for it. Quiet indignation, perhaps.

He focused instead on the lighter offering behind that and forged a smile out of that indignation. A king he may have been, but he did not quite see himself that way. Better he a rat wearing a crooked diadem—Dirge had not taken much in the way of issue with letting Hydra be the one to run the show. Except where he felt he needed to put his input in firmly, whether she asked him for it or not.

"I do miss it, that lifestyle," he found himself admitting. "At least your sister affords me the opportunity to still do some ranging... not that I would leave her alone with the quartet of holy terror for long. Too long and I'd be more apt to come home to a crumbled pile of rocks that once resembled a mountain and a few faces of teeth in want of their pound of flesh." An amused note left him, distracted. "But out there, you are your own king if you so desire it. Master of your own destiny, if you will."