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KINN'ZZUWANNIK (The beast switches to Eliza from staring at the sword. He starts to snarl, but thinks better of it. If he could sweeten his voice, he would have.) "Well, if it is not the future Lady Blandamour." (Ichor runs down his face from the amputated tendril, he dabs at it moodily) "If it were not for my respect for your husband to be, I might point out that I am in his grasp, not yours." (He switches to Verloren.) "Well, princess, mine. And I do mean mine, for you once were. Look, I have kept your chains to remind me. I often picture you still in them. A pretty sight you were while the quickling teased you. Who is this with you? Not the same elf as before. Ahh, I see that he and you have ... made each others' acquaintance quite deeply, as it were." (He chuckles and swivels to Castor) "And who is this mountebank that you have with you, Blandamour? Have you grown so high and mighty that you carry with you a bard, to sing your triumphs, over me and that nephew that you named? Think not that I mourn for him, by the way. Always disrespectrul and overly aggressive, that one, one of my sister Corrarunda's get. But, I digress. I shall be glad to answer your questions, provided you agree to heal me, for that sword and I have met before, I know its wounds, and I bear its scars."
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