Moonspear fulthark

When he speaks, this time he seems aware, as if something in the low hush of his voice was enough to spur him back to the present. And the words seem genuine, focused, perhaps reminiscent of who he had been before. At least that was what Dirge wanted to believe, for better or for worse. Yet the headroom he had for doubt was a very vast, nearly infinite sort of thing. He had learned to expect the worst in others and for all his silver-tongued weight in gold had managed to even convince himself of such. It left little room for surprise when it inevitably came, though there were always exceptions to that rule. There deserved to be exceptions to every rule.

"How I wonder if you are capable of being better," he murmured. "These are unkind lands to the feeble whether it in body or mind." He hated these words off his tongue, yet hated the idea of simply chasing him away. "Perhaps you mean to suggest that you favor an end by another, because that would be the alternative if you were not to thrive. I won't tolerate failure, I cannot. My kin would have already torn into you. So what could you possibly offer to me that I have not already?"