Messmer was sat upon a dark wooden throne in a candlelit room. He was running a claw along the intricate designs that were carved into the ebony wood, as he was lost to his thoughts. He then spoke after a moment in a soft, almost sorrowful murmur; naturally to himself.

"Moth'r? Shall thee ev'r returneth? To me..." A sigh escaped the demigod, but he then froze at the sudden sound of approaching footsteps. Slowly, he rose to his feet and grabbed his spear as the huge twin doors push open, and one of his loyal- most loyal- soldiers arrived. The demigod was flush with embarrassment as he felt he was almost caught.

"Begone from h're, mongrel intrud'r. Leaveth mine own chamber." His voice was a growl, but still it carried a hint of weariness to it; a pitiful attempt to act like his usual stoic self before the familiar face.