"Of course, I intend to keep that promise. Did I not just give you my word that I would?" Emet-Selch says in a huff, eager to move away from shining a light on his flowery words. He said them, he meant them, it does not bear repeating nor would he. But he does conveniently let Hythlodaeus lean where he would without complaint.

He reaches for the newest glass of what they've been given and takes a long sip. This drink is much better - sweet and fizzy with a certain strong aftertaste. Almost pure alcohol though, which is a wonder that it tastes good.

"My, they certainly take this festival's intent to heart." He examines the glass. "I have not had a drink with such strength in a while."