"Classic Antivan theology." His eyes linger, not quite unashamed - there's a hint of a flush rising under the freckles dappling his cheeks - but not making any real attempt at subtlety. The lamps in the room light his work well enough, but away from where they've been aimed they throw shadows across countours, and tattoos twine out of those shadows like dark vines from the black earth.

He smiles, a glint of mischief in it.

"Any more wisdom for these heathen ears?"