“Ugh, I give up.” Philcox grumbled to himself, his shoulders slumping. “I'm still stuck at square one─underappreciated and underfed.”

He began to pace as he went on talking to himself. “I'm an ahriman. Paralyzing prey with this big eye of mine? Not a problem. Turning them to stone with a petrifying glare? A trifling task. Hells, I can even smell despair and all manner of negative emotions in the people around me! But obviously, paralysis and petrification won't win over anyone. And my metaphorical nose for despair isn't going to put aether on the table either...”

His footsteps slowed to a stop as his keen senses alerted him that he wasn’t alone. Slowly he turned to face whoever had caught him all but admitting to his true nature. “Erm… That is…”

He cleared his throat, trying desperately to recover from his blunder. “I, uh… don’t suppose you might appreciate some help with anything? Anything at all?”