The doors to the antechamber of the Waking Sands swung open, the creaking of old wood breaking the silence as a Roegadyn man, well over seven fulms tall and dressed in chainmail, entered the room.

"Came as fast as I could, I did. Ye're me new partner, eh? 'Tis nice t' finally meet ye." His heavy footsteps echoed against the stone floor as he approached, a wide grin spreading across his face.

“So, ye saw a starshower an' all, eh? I tell ye what, I thought I was done for, that night. Thought the Destroyer Himself had come tearin' up the skies, lookin' fer me. Thought he'd got it into his head to make me atone fer a lifetime o' sinnin', I did.”

“So ye can imagine how thoroughly befogged I was when I woke up, an' found I wasn't lyin' in bloody chunks on th' underworld's doorstep. The Gods I'd feared were out t' get me had not only spared me, but given me—a rotten man with a past as black as pitch—a gift worthy of a king or a saint.” He shook his head, still hardly believing it himself.

“An' so I think it only right t' use me gift in a manner that would please those as gave it to me. Ye might think o' doin' the same yerself, seein' as how they're gods an' most like t' be watchin'.”

Seeing his words met with a less than enthusiastic reaction, he rubbed the back of his head and smiled sheepishly. “Pardon, didn’t mean to go prattlin’ yer ear off when we’ve only just met. If ye'd let me, I'd like t' make it up t' ye. Might I buy ye a cup o' sweet red o'er at the Quicksand?”