You bow as Lute approaches. She eyes you before speaking.

Rise, fool. I have no time for groveling worms.

I assume you know your place and have a good reason for bothering me.

You let out a response but Lute cuts you off.

Spare me your prattling. State your purpose directly then be gone.

You are fortunate that I restrain myself, else my blade would have already pierced your worthless hide for wasting my time.

Know that I show no mercy, and your life hangs by a thread at my every whim.