[It takes some effort for Emet-Selch not to roll his eyes at the question. Is that how people greet one another these days? This is, after all, the second time he's been asked such a ridiculous question. Though, at present, it's hard to say how best to answer.]
A pity your manners aren't as polished as your spellwork.
[He shakes his head with a one-shouldered shrug, keeping his other hand free as his wings fold behind him like a long, impossibly dark shadow.]
Emet-Selch. Ancient, Ascian, half-faded soul of the dead. The Third Seat of the Convocation of Fourteen, sorceror of eld, and - according to a certain meddlesome fox deity - a "legend" amongst her captives.
Surely one of those answers will prove satisfactory.
[Emet-Selch studies the other man. He's seen all he needs to, he thinks, yet he's stubborn - and petty.]
And what are you? More importantly, what was that spell?
no subject
[It takes some effort for Emet-Selch not to roll his eyes at the question. Is that how people greet one another these days? This is, after all, the second time he's been asked such a ridiculous question. Though, at present, it's hard to say how best to answer.]
A pity your manners aren't as polished as your spellwork.
[He shakes his head with a one-shouldered shrug, keeping his other hand free as his wings fold behind him like a long, impossibly dark shadow.]
Emet-Selch. Ancient, Ascian, half-faded soul of the dead. The Third Seat of the Convocation of Fourteen, sorceror of eld, and - according to a certain meddlesome fox deity - a "legend" amongst her captives.
Surely one of those answers will prove satisfactory.
[Emet-Selch studies the other man. He's seen all he needs to, he thinks, yet he's stubborn - and petty.]
And what are you? More importantly, what was that spell?