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[withintenfeet]

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[withintenfeet]

The laughter tumbles out before he can catch it, low and hoarse and just this side of manic.

"What I think - " Oh, that sounded just as bad. He swallows hard and tries again, summoning steadiness through sheer force of will.

"Do you remember - I know it was a much longer time ago, for you. But I told you about a bard you reminded me of, and what he did with the last day of his life."

[conning]

It takes him a moment. Zerxus hadn't said bard at the time, that Neal can recall, but that doesn't particularly matter. He recalls the rest of it.

"'The best liar in a city of liars,' I think is how you put it. Someone who cared when other people should have, who saved as many lives as he could with the time he had."

[withintenfeet]

His expression softens a little, as he nods, but his voice is just as heavy.

"Between him and the rest of us, I think we got at least half of Avalir out, and most of Cathmoira." Not just the Ring of Brass, but everyone they inspired to fight for each other.

"Two cities, out of dozens." Domunas wasn't the most populated continent, especially as it began to decline over the decades, but it wasn't sparse either. Hopefully, most of them died in their sleep. "And letting all of that be destroyed - was the best we could do, to try and fix our mistakes. To mitigate the damage, and doom Exandria to centuries of horror instead of eternity."

[conning]

"Your mistakes?" It's a gentle prompt, without judgment, as heavy as the thought of dozens of cities wiped off the map sits in the pit of his stomach and the base of his throat.

[withintenfeet]

"Yes." He stares down into his drink, now, as he tries to figure out where to start. "...Your world doesn't have gods. Not obvious ones, at least."

[conning]

"Not obvious ones, no." He wouldn't discount the possibility entirely, that they're out there, but as for their interest in earth and its population--that's another question.

[withintenfeet]

"And people still devote themselves to them." It continues to boggle his mind! But that isn't the point, so he shakes his head. "Ours - they have their own realms, their own planes, but they can walk among us whenever they like. Well, most of them."

He remembers what was, in retrospect, the first hint of Asmodeus as he truly was; the contemptuous growl of prime deities.

"Thousands of years ago, the gods - twenty of them, at the time - found our world and started changing it. All the life that exists there was shaped, at least in part, by them. But then it all went wrong, and they started fighting over it, and about half - eight of them - were banished. Not together, but alone, for...eternity, apparently."

And even now, even now his voice is taut with sympathy. As he lapses back into silence he seems fragile again, but then his shoulders straighten and there's steel in his voice, a glimmer of starlight in his gaze.

"I never cared about gods in general. But I care about people being condemned and forgotten just because it's easier that way."